


Where The Heart Is

by RowanBaines



Category: Star Trek: Mirror Universe, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Angst, Bloodplay, Bottom Kirk, Bottom Spock, Dubious Consent, Infidelity, Jealousy, Knifeplay, M/M, Mirror Universe, Pon Farr, Rape, Rimming, Rope Bondage, Rough Sex, T'hy'la, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 18:39:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2160933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowanBaines/pseuds/RowanBaines
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Spock is accused of assisting a traitor to the Empire, Kirk is ordered to get information out of him by any means necessary.</p>
<p>How will Kirk cope with being forced to torture the man who is secretly his lover? And what will he do when Starfleet Command decides that Spock's time is up?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Там, где сердце](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5178950) by [Nagini_snake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nagini_snake/pseuds/Nagini_snake), [Poco_a_poco](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poco_a_poco/pseuds/Poco_a_poco), [Singh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Singh/pseuds/Singh)



> A hundred thousand thanks to my amazing friend and beta, [Druxykexy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/druxykexy). You make me better. And thank you, [Plaidshirtjimkirk](http://archiveofourown.org/users/plaidshirtjimkirk), for being such a wonderful source of support and encouragement! I'm a lucky bastard!

\- **The Interrogation** -

 

The interrogation room on the ISS _Enterprise_ —conveniently located in sickbay—was well-equipped to extract confessions from even the most strong-willed of beings. During more serious investigations, Doctor Leonard McCoy was kept on hand to bring the unfortunate back from the brink of death however many times needed so that the questioning could continue.

 

Captain Kirk generally liked to handle interrogations himself, though with a particularly stubborn case his first officer was often called upon to split the responsibility with him. His new first officer, chosen by the brass because of his superior ass-kissing abilities, had been all too eager to have a go at his Vulcan predecessor.

 

When Kirk arrived in sickbay Commander Gavorak was waiting for him, leaning against an empty biobed and absently wiping at a smear of blood on his shirt.

 

Green blood. Spock’s blood.

 

Gavorak came to attention when he saw Kirk approaching. His blonde hair gleamed almost white in the cool light, and he smirked faintly as he saluted his Captain.

 

“Report.” Kirk sneered, unable to suppress his dislike of the man.

 

“I couldn’t get any useful information, but I think the drugs are really starting to break him down. I got some good screams out of him.”

 

“Good.” Kirk nodded, giving no indication that Gavorak’s update had made his stomach twist. “I’ll take it from here. You’re dismissed.”

 

Looking like a man thoroughly satisfied with himself, Gavorak threw a wolfish look over his shoulder as he leisurely strolled out of sickbay.

 

Kirk took a moment to prepare himself, wrapping his anger around him like a protective blanket, and then walked into the interrogation room. Spock was strapped to the table, wearing only his uniform pants, his once neat cap of hair disheveled and dripping wet. Kirk’s boots squeaked against the floor, and he realized there were puddles of water beneath and surrounding the table. Gavorak had ended with water torture today.

 

Doctor McCoy was leaning over the Vulcan, using a dermal regenerator on a deep gash over Spock’s left eye.

 

“Doctor, may I ask what you’re doing?”

 

“What the hell does it look like I’m doing? I’m treating his wounds.” McCoy lowered the regenerator, but administered a hypo before stepping away from Spock.

 

“That’s not how this works and you know it,” Kirk said. He kept his voice, cool, detached. Spock would have been proud of him under different circumstances.

 

“There’s no point in—”

 

“Is he in danger of dying?”

 

“Technically, yes. I doubt very much he’ll get out of this alive.” McCoy scowled at his captain.

 

“Is he in danger of dying _right now_ , Doctor McCoy?”

 

“No, sir, he is not,” McCoy was forced to admit.

 

“Then you are not needed at this time,” Kirk said. He gestured at the door. “Get out.”

 

“You’re a cold-hearted bastard, you know that?” McCoy stopped to hiss out as he walked by.

 

“ _Goodbye_ , Doctor.”

 

Once McCoy was gone, the door slammed behind him, Kirk moved closer to the table. Spock’s eyes were closed, his face tilted away from Kirk. Numerous fresh bruises discolored his pale skin, some of them surrounding shallow abrasions.

 

Spock’s breathing was uneven, labored, his naked chest heaving with every sharp intake of breath. Kirk’s hand raised, seemingly of it’s own accord, and hovered over that chest. Kirk could not help but remember the first time he had run his fingers through the fine, silky hair there, mapping out each rib before settling his palm over the fast-beating heart.

 

Kirk’s own heart clenched at the memory, but the knowledge that everything that happened in this room was being recorded kept him from releasing even a fraction of the pain that was roaring through him. He quickly shut it down, locking away the hurt.

 

His face became a mask of disgust as he clutched Spock roughly by the jaw and turned his head so that they could look at each other.

 

“Wake up,” Kirk snapped, squeezing harder and hating the noise that escaped Spock. It was a tiny sound, tired and helpless.

 

Spock’s eyelids fluttered open, and he gazed at Kirk as though he had never seen him before in his life. As if they had not secretly been lovers for the past two years. Kirk released him and stepped back, clenching and unclenching his fists.

 

“Spock, if you just tell us what we want to know, then we can stop this right now. You won’t have to feel any more pain,” Kirk said in a reasonable voice.

 

“I cannot,” was the deep, rasping reply.

 

Kirk was momentarily shocked by the hollow quality of Spock’s voice, but he pressed on. “Don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be.”

 

Spock merely turned his head away again, staring blankly at the wall.

 

“Then you’re bringing this on yourself.”

 

Kirk picked up an agonizer. Spock closed his eyes.

 

 

\- **Two Years Ago** -

 

When Spock took ill and demanded that Kirk take him to Vulcan, Kirk was surprised. Spock had never been anything other than cool and composed, but over the course of several days he gradually became more and more irritable. No matter how Kirk threatened or cajoled, Spock would give him no explanation.

 

Kirk refused his request to return to Vulcan on principle, until Spock finally broke down and explained his mysterious illness. Pon farr, he called it.

 

Spock kept close to Kirk during the trip to his home planet, though anyone else who came near him risked incurring his apparently hormone-induced wrath. Kirk was too amused by Spock’s moodiness to be upset by the disruptions his behavior caused, though he was secretly relieved when they reached their destination.

 

When Spock asked Kirk to accompany him down to the planet Kirk had been perplexed—and perhaps a bit suspicious—but he had been too curious to decline the invitation.

 

They beamed down to the ancestral lands of Spock’s family for what was, essentially, a marriage ceremony. Or what would have been a marriage ceremony if things had gone as planned. Spock, shivering slightly despite the sweltering heat, was greeted at the place of _Koon-ut-kal-if-fee_ by an obviously alarmed Vulcan man.

 

“Greetings Spock, son of Sarek,” the man said, nearly fumbling the Vulcan salute because his hands were shaking. Kirk had never seen a Vulcan appear so anxious.

 

Spock seemed to sense immediately that something was amiss, and when the man began to speak again Spock cut him off. “Where is my betrothed? Where is T’Pring?”

 

“We attempted to contact you aboard the _Enterprise_ , and left an urgent message when we could not reach you. Did you not receive it?”

 

“No. I did not.” Spock’s voice was gravelly, but toneless.

 

“T’Pring has vanished. We are attempting to locate her, and will bring her to you as soon as she is found.”

 

“I see.”

 

“It is possible…” The man grew restless and took a step back before continuing, “We suspect that T’Pring has fled with the man reported to be her lover.”

 

Kirk looked at Spock in surprise, but Spock only frowned a little, staring off into the distance. The Vulcan man shifted his weight from foot to foot and watched Spock warily, as though expecting him to fly into a rage at any moment. When Spock finally met the man’s eyes, though, he was perfectly calm.

 

“Leave me. Do not return unless you have something to report,” he said.

 

The man bowed and slowly backed away before turning and going back the way he had come. Once he was gone Spock turned and walked away without a word. Mystified, Kirk followed.

 

Spock crossed a perilously high bridge of stone and walked toward a small temple carved out of the side of the mountain. The dwelling was backed up against the smooth red rock, the other three walls open to the stiflingly hot air. Spock passed between two pillars and entered, stopping only long enough to remove his boots. Kirk grumbled to himself as he stooped to remove his own.

 

Spock went straight to the ornate firepot against the wall. He retrieved a stick of what looked like incense from a narrow stone box, and then lit it in the firepot. By the time he kneeled down on the thin but spacious mat that at the center of the small room Kirk was burning with curiosity.

 

“Spock, what the hell is going on? What are you going to do?”

 

“I will wait here for news of T’Pring, and I will attempt to meditate.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “You may return to the ship now.”

 

“Fuck you. I’ll return to the ship when I’m ready to.” Even though Spock’s eyes were closed, Kirk found himself flashing him a wicked grin. “For now I think I’ll stay here and keep you company. I wouldn’t want you to get lonely.”

 

“Very well. I would ask that you remain silent so that I may concentrate.”

 

Kirk huffed, but said nothing else.

 

Narrow benches ran the length of the structure, and Kirk stretched out on one, placing his hands beneath his head and sighing heavily as a hot breeze blew over him. He was tired, and the blanket of heat seemed to dull his thoughts so that he found himself hovering on the edge of sleep. His fear of sleeping unguarded kept him from getting any real rest, though, and he simply let his mind drift instead.

 

It was only when the air started to cool almost imperceptibly that Kirk opened his eyes. The sky was a deeper red, and he realized the day was creeping toward evening. Kirk sat up, swinging his feet to the ground.

 

“You said you’ll die if you don’t…mate. How much time do you have?” Kirk asked.

 

Spock appeared to be deep in meditation, so Kirk was somewhat startled when he immediately responded.

 

“Very little.” Spock opened his eyes, but did not look at Kirk.

 

Kirk frowned. Spock might be an arrogant Vulcan bastard, but Kirk had lately come to think of Spock as _his_ arrogant Vulcan bastard. He was a damned good first officer, and as far as Kirk could tell, he had no desire to move up in rank. Not that Kirk trusted his word on the matter, he was just reasonably certain that Spock did not actively dislike him or wish him harm. In the Empire, that was enough for Kirk to consider the Vulcan his ally.

 

“So what happens if they find this T’Pring and bring her here? Can you force her to marry you?” Kirk asked.

 

“If she is found and the ceremony goes on, she will no doubt challenge.”

 

“What does that mean?”

 

“She will choose a champion and I will fight him for the right to be her mate,” Spock explained. After a few moments he added, “It is a fight to the death.”

 

Spock’s voice was perfectly even, and Kirk might have fallen for the deception if he hadn’t noticed the Vulcan’s hands trembling in his lap. Kirk found himself scowling at his first officer, but for the moment he could think of nothing to say in response to Spock’s proclamation and so he lapsed into silence again.

 

Kirk watched as Spock attempted to meditate once more, and his mind began to work feverishly.

 

Spock was in no condition to fight for his life. His complexion was sickly, a feverish flush of green high on his cheeks. He had begun to shiver violently as soon as the temperature began to drop, and even now in the fading light Kirk could make out the subtle sway of Spock’s body as he fought to remain upright.

 

If Spock didn’t mate he would die. If T’Pring and this champion of hers were found and Spock was forced to fight, he would be killed.

 

Kirk did not like no-win scenarios.

 

He wasn’t prepared to put his first officer’s life into just anyone’s hands, so trusting the cutthroat bastards on the ship was out, and judging by the welcome Spock had received when they beamed down, he couldn’t count on the Vulcans either. That left him with one other option. He would have to let Spock use his body to get through his pon farr.

 

He didn’t like it. He hated the thought of submitting to anyone, of letting someone hold him down and use him. James T. Kirk, the man who had schemed and killed his way to the position of captain, did not make a habit of placing himself in a position of powerlessness. But he was the kind of man who was capable of doing whatever was necessary to get what he wanted.

 

And he wanted Spock to remain his first officer.

 

But that didn’t mean he was happy about the means necessary to achieve his goal of keeping the Vulcan. When Kirk went to shake Spock out of his meditation he was not gentle about it.

 

“Spock, snap out of it.” Kirk gripped Spock’s arm and turned him around. “Look at me!”

 

“Captain?” Spock flung out an arm to steady himself and clutched at Kirk’s shoulder with greedy fingers.

 

Kirk shoved him away, not quite ready to give himself up to that touch. Spock landed gracelessly on his side, but picked himself up, standing in front of Kirk on swaying legs.

 

“Alright Spock. T'Pring isn't coming,” Kirk said, placing his hands on his hips in a defiant pose he hoped would conceal his growing anxiety. “You’re going to have to let me take her place.”

 

Spock’s breathing grew heavy, but he shook his head, backing away. “You do not understand. This is—I cannot—”

 

“Oh, shut up, Spock,” Kirk snapped. He began to peel off his clothes, folding them and making a small pile on a shelf near the entrance.

 

He stood naked before Spock and manufactured a sensuous smile, but Spock looked away, nearly panting now.

 

“I did not think—” he started.

 

“Bullshit.” Kirk couldn’t keep the anger out of his voice, and Spock flinched, his shoulders going stiff. “You wanted this. I think you did receive that message telling you T’Pring had split. And I think that’s exactly why you asked me to accompany you down here.”

 

“Captain, no. You—”

 

“Enough!” Kirk backhanded him across the face before he could finish. “Don’t insult my intelligence you goddamn, son of—”

 

Kirk tried to strike Spock again, but Spock caught his wrist and twisted, lowering Kirk to the ground.

 

“Captain…” Spock’s eyes were wild, his voice throaty and faintly tremulous. “I burn.”

 

Kirk saw a flash of fear twist Spock’s features, and suddenly understood that Spock was afraid of the same thing he was: losing control. When Spock released his wrist, Kirk sat back, swallowing down his own fear.

 

He didn’t like any of this. He was furious over being placed in this position, but if he meant to carry out his plan to save Spock he’d have to fully accept the situation. His anger wasn’t making things any easier, nor was his fear.

 

He stood back up and tried to project lust and enthusiasm that he didn’t feel. Spock visibly relaxed, though he did not make any move toward Kirk.

 

“You might as well take your clothes off,” Kirk said. When Spock didn’t move he sharply commanded, “Now.”

 

Spock began to undress, and Kirk turned away to examine their surroundings more closely. “I don’t suppose there’s some lube stashed in here somewhere.”

 

He turned back around in time to see Spock glance at one of the benches before focusing on Kirk again. Kirk walked over to the bench and squatted down. He noticed a seam in the stone and pressed lightly against the top of it. He heard a faint click, and after dipping in slightly, the square door opened outward. Kirk pulled out the sleek white box he found there, and opened it.

 

It was a medical kit, which, not surprisingly, did contain a bottle of lubricant. He supposed it made sense, considering what he had recently learned about Vulcans and their mating habits.

 

Spock watched Kirk as he took out the bottle and replaced the kit, his eyes burning into him. Spock was completely naked now, his green-tinged cock swollen with his need and his lean body shaking with fever. He looked feral, dangerous, his lips parting around ragged breaths.  

 

Spock’s eerie silence was putting Kirk on edge, and he fought with himself to remain calm. He felt the need to provoke some kind of reaction out of the Vulcan, anything to break his ominous silence. The light from the firepot set Spock’s pale skin aglow as the sky outside grew dark, though his face was a shadowy mask of hunger.

 

Kirk swallowed hard, then narrowed his eyes. “We don’t have to do this, you know. If you don’t need me I can always…” Kirk moved toward the entrance.

 

Kirk’s provocation drew a much stronger reaction out of the Vulcan than he had been anticipating. One moment Kirk was taking a step away from Spock, and the next he was on the ground, looking up into eyes that blazed with lust and rage. And fear. Kirk caught sight of it again, and it was the only thing that kept him from lashing out as he felt himself being dragged onto the mat at the center of the room.

 

Kirk had been with a man before, but it had been a very long time since he had bottomed for anyone. He struggled now to submit, closing his eyes and trying to give himself up to the sensations that coursed through him at Spock’s touch.

 

Spock pressed his body down against Kirk’s, pinning him to the floor despite the resistance of Kirk’s hands against his chest. He rubbed his cock against Kirk’s belly, and buried his face in Kirk’s neck. His beard scratched unpleasantly at Kirk’s skin, but when his tongue flicked out and his lips began to suck, Kirk couldn’t stop himself from moaning softly.

 

When Kirk reached around to clutch at Spocks back, Spock hummed his approval and began to nuzzle against Kirk’s ear, nipping lightly. Kirk moaned again, arching up to press his burgeoning erection against Spock. Spock’s reaction was immediate and savage.

 

With a low growl, he ducked his head and bit down hard on Kirk’s shoulder, pinching Kirk’s skin between his teeth and then laving the tender bite with his tongue. Kirk screamed and tried to shove Spock away, but Spock would not be moved. He ground his body hard against Kirk’s, sucking eagerly at the now-throbbing wound.

 

“Don’t,” Kirk yelled, reaching a hand up to shove Spock’s face away. Spock hardly seemed to notice when Kirk’s nails raked bloody scratches into his cheek, and when he finally pulled back his green blood was dripping down to mingle with the smeared red of human blood on his beard and lips. He looked crazed, animalistic, but Kirk only had a moment to examine him before he was being carelessly flipped over onto his stomach.

 

His own erection was gone now, but Spock was ready and eager, his cock sliding over the sweat-slicked skin of Kirk’s ass before slipping between the taut cheeks. Kirk tried to jerk away, but he was already pressed flat against the floor and could do nothing but squirm against the wiry strength of Spock’s body.

 

Kirk’s cheeks grew flushed as he struggled to turn his head enough to look at Spock.

 

“Don’t you dare! If you try to put your dick in me without lube, I swear I’ll—” Kirk’s anger overwhelmed him and he finished with an incoherent string of curses.

 

For a few long moments Spock remained still, his forehead pressed against the back of Kirk’s neck. Then he sat up, and Kirk felt him leaning to the side. Kirk had dropped the bottle of lubricant when Spock had pinned him down, but he knew Spock had found it when he heard the pop of a lid opening.

 

Then came the slicking sounds of Spock rubbing the lubricant onto himself, followed by a deep sigh. He felt something warm and wet being drizzled between his ass cheeks, and a moment later he jumped as a slender finger pushed into him. All too quickly one finger turned into two, burning into him, and then both were withdrawn. Before Kirk could protest, Spock rubbed the slick head of his cock against Kirk’s clenched hole, and then shoved inside.

 

Kirk gasped in pain and instinctively lurched forward to get away from him, but Spock caught him by the back of the neck and pressed him back down into the mat as he began to fuck him.

 

“Wait!” Kirk choked out, hating himself for the helplessness in his voice.

 

Kirk was stretched painfully tight, and each merciless thrust of Spock’s hips drew a sharp cry from him as Spock drove himself deeper. Spock seemed to have lost all control. He fucked Kirk into the mat with a bruising, unrestrained force that drove the breath out of him.

 

Kirk’s body jerked forward with each thrust, but he ignored the scrape of the mat beneath him on his bare skin, and squeezed his eyes shut. Kirk clawed at the mat and grit his teeth against the searing pain, praying to the whatever powers might be that it would be over quickly.

 

He began to feel somewhat dizzy and disconnected as the heat, the constant movement, and the thin air began to wear him down. Spock was relentless, hardly slowing as he hoisted Kirk’s hips up and shifted his position. Kirk felt helpless with his ass in the air and Spock’s strong hands holding him still, and he fought back the urge to cry out again.

 

He started to lose track of how much time was passing, and when Spock adjusted their positions again, tirelessly pounding into him, Kirk tried to retreat into his mind, and away from sound and feel of skin slapping against skin. He didn’t know how much more of it he could take.

 

Kirk nearly let out a hysterical laugh of relief when Spock stiffened and came with a loud groan, his movements finally stuttering to a halt.

 

He sank down onto Kirk, and when Kirk realized that he had no intention of moving he arched his body up with all of his strength and tipped Spock off of him. Spock slumped onto his side, panting heavily and looking perfectly sated, but when Kirk tried to move away Spock caught his arm and yanked him back.

 

“Let me go, damn you!” Kirk yelled. He shoved at Spock’s chest, but Spock refused to release him.

 

Kirk quickly gave up and laid down next to him, though he put as much space between them as possible. It was only after a few long minutes of staring into the depths of those dark eyes that he realized Spock was afraid he would leave.

 

Spock’s reaction had been violent when Kirk moved toward the entrance before, so perhaps he just needed to convince him that he wasn’t going anywhere. He wanted his arm back, and he needed to get up and stretch.

 

Kirk rolled onto his back—wincing a little as his weight shifted onto his ass—and looked around in what he hoped was a casual manner. A movement caught his eye, and he turned his head to look at the doorway just in time to see a hooded figure disappear into the deepening dark. Kirk sat up, and though Spock did not move, his eyes narrowed as he followed Kirk’s gaze.

 

Just outside the doorway Kirk could make out a covered rectangular basket. Whoever had brought it obviously intended it for their use, and he was curious to see what was inside. He sat up and pulled his arm away, and though Spock sat up as well to allow him more movement, he still would not let him go.

 

“Spock, let me go see what that is,” Kirk said, doing his best to make his voice commanding.

 

Spock stared at him, his expression becoming stormy and the glazed look returning to his eyes. Kirk cursed and tried to yank his arm free, pulling and scratching at Spock’s fingers with his free hand, but Spock didn’t budge.

 

Kirk clenched his fists and closed his eyes, taking a few long, deep breaths. He was tired and his ass hurt, and he wanted nothing more than to have a good meal and climb into a soft bed. He was tempted to strike out at Spock, to fight him off with everything he had, but he was simply too exhausted and miserable.

 

Head drooping, he mumbled, “I’m fucking tired and I’m hungry, and I just want to…”

 

He was about to let himself slump to the ground when the fingers around his arm released him. Kirk sighed and rubbed at the tingling limb before standing up. He couldn’t seem to make himself meet Spock’s eyes, but he was acutely aware of Spocks movements as he followed Kirk to the entrance.

 

Kirk kneeled down and picked up the basket, but before he could go back into the temple he found himself caught by the sight of Vulcan’s night sky. He stepped down into the gritty sand, moved by the sight of so many stars shining above the twinkling lights of the nearby city.

 

He looked over at Spock, who was at his right shoulder, and then back at the glorious vista spread out before him.

 

He started to take another step, but then Spock’s hand was on his back, fingertips pressed gently to his skin.

 

“Stay.” Spock’s voice was rough.

 

“Do I have a choice in the matter?” Kirk spat, his wonder disappearing as his anger flared up.

 

Spock said nothing, stepping back into the temple and holding out a beckoning hand. His eyes were burning again, his body responding as he looked Kirk over. Kirk pushed past him, ignoring the outstretched hand and going straight to one of the benches to examine the contents of the basket.

 

Spock followed on his heels, and stood over Kirk as he removed the lid and began to pull out the items within. There were two blankets, two glass bottles of what he assumed was water, and several nutrition bars. He drank a few long gulps from one of the bottles—the water had been chilled and was crisp and refreshing—and then put everything but the blankets back in the basket for later. He was holding a blanket and wistfully contemplating sleep when Spock leaned down and whispered in his ear, breath soft and warm.

 

“James...”

 

Kirk was surprised to hear his name cross those lips, since Spock had only ever used his title before. The intimacy of the moment—that soft whisper and the careful touch on his shoulder that slowly grew more heavy—sent a shiver through Kirk. He didn’t think he was ready for another round of sex just yet, but the decision was being made for him.

 

Spock pulled him back to the center of the room and lowered himself to the floor, pulling Kirk down with him.

 

He rolled them over so that Kirk was on his back, and he nestled between his legs. He bent down to bite at Kirk’s ear, one hand holding himself up and the other kneading Kirk’s hip as he rocked against him. Spock sucked hungrily at Kirk’s throat, leaking a copious amount of precome agsint Kirk’s belly. Kirk started to feel aroused when Spock reached up to pinch a rosy nipple, dragging his nails over it lightly before moving to the other.

 

For a moment he forgot that he was tired and sore, and that he didn’t really want to be here, but when Spock’s lips brushed his he jerked his head away and came back to himself. The mat beneath him was hard and his dewy skin was starting to chill as the night air around them rapidly cooled. He was here to be used, that was all.

 

“Just do it already!” Kirk said. He pulled his legs up and lifted his hips, then grabbed Spock’s cock, giving it a few long strokes. He snarled, “Come on.”

 

Spock didn’t need any more encouragement, and with a grunt he hoisted Kirk’s legs up and over his shoulders, and then drove his cock completely into Kirk with one swift, brutal thrust.

 

Kirk managed to keep from screaming, but his eyes went wide and he gasped as Spock started to move, snapping his hips forward and setting a rapid pace. The pain faded somewhat, but he was not used to such an intense sensation of fullness, and he clutched helplessly at Spock’s shoulders as the Vulcan pounded into him.

 

He dug his nails in, and when the sight of green blood trickling down Spock’s arm sent a pleasant rush satisfaction through him, he yanked Spock closer and mercilessly raked his nails down his back.

 

Spock threw his head back and groaned, his rhythm faltering for a moment. He lowered himself down, resting on one elbow, and ran his fingers through Kirk’s hair.  

 

He pressed his lips to Kirk’s ear and whispered, “James. T’hy’la…”

 

Kirk did not understand the Vulcan word, but Spock’s tender tone made his stomach flip flop and his breath stutter. This was not the Vulcan he had known, and he had no idea how to handle him.

 

He focused on the feel of Spock sliding in and out of him, on the friction between their bodies and the aching throb of straining muscles. He was so intent on the physical sensations of their joining that he didn’t notice when Spock pressed his fingertips to Kirk’s face. It wasn’t until he was flooded by the feeling of plunging his dick into tight, slick heat, that he realized he was not alone in his mind, that he was experiencing what Spock was feeling.

 

Spock was somehow in his mind.

 

Kirk lurched away from the presence of another in his head, and distantly felt his body struggle, felt his hands clawing at Spock and hitting him. He finally managed to yank Spock’s hand away from his face, and then he was alone in his head again.

 

Kirk was aware that Vulcans were touch telepaths, and he knew that when they chose a mate they linked their minds together, but it hadn't occurred to him that Spock might try to do that to him. The idea that Spock was trying to bind them together telepathically nearly sent him into a panic. He was letting Spock use his body, but there was no way he was letting Spock have his mind, too.

 

Spock was determined. He pressed his fingers to Kirk’s face again, and when Kirk tried to pull his hand away Spock attempted to capture both of Kirk’s wrists in one hand. Kirk was raging beneath him, though, and he could not get a good grip on him.

 

“Don’t you fucking dare, you bastard!” Kirk yelled, swinging a fist and catching Spock across his cheek. “You stay out of my head or I’ll kill you! Do you hear me? I’ll kill you!”

 

Kirk was desperate, and when Spock continued his attempts to reach his mind, he went mad with rage. He pulled an arm back toward his chest and then thrust upward so that the the heel of his palm collided with Spock’s nose. Spock’s head snapped back, and a moment later a steady stream of green blood began to pour out. He grabbed Kirk by the shoulders and lifted him, slamming him back down so that his head thudded painfully against the floor.

 

“I said no,” Kirk panted, his rage dying down as he realized that Spock was making no move to join their minds again.

 

Spock gasped for air, his sharp exhalations sending a spray of blood misting outward. His eyes were wild as he hovered over Kirk, and when he grabbed him by the shoulders again Kirk braced himself for the coming pain. Spock merely flipped him over onto his stomach, though, and then pulled Kirk’s hips up so that he was on his hands and knees.

 

He entered Kirk from behind, leaning over him and dripping blood onto his back. Each thrust was a punishment, a deep, abrupt stab of mingling pain and pleasure. Kirk began to grow hard, but although Spock teasingly brushed against Kirk’s prostate a few times, his sole focus seemed to be on taking his own pleasure from Kirk. When he finally came Kirk was left aching and unsatisfied.

 

They collapsed next to each other, and Kirk considered jerking off to get some relief, but he felt too confused, and sick inside. Instead he went and picked up the blankets, tossing one at Spock’s feet and wrapping the other around himself. He drank a little water and then, legs wobbling beneath him, went to the mat and laid back down.

 

He heard the rustling sounds of Spock settling down next to him, but he refused to acknowledge him, even when Spock scooted close enough that Kirk could feel his breath on the back of his neck.

 

The air was cold now, though not unpleasantly so, and he could hear the faint _click click_ of some kind of desert insect. Kirk was tired, but he was too uncomfortable to sleep. He flopped onto his back, and then onto his side again, facing Spock this time. Spock’s lips were slightly parted and he was watching Kirk with those unfathomable eyes, his hair mussed and his cheeks still flushed from his exertions.

 

Kirk decided that he hated Spock. Loathed him. He turned onto his other side, unable to meet Spock’s gaze anymore.

 

He wasn’t sure how it was possible, but in his mind he could just barely sense a trickle of emotion that was not his own. He felt anger, frustration, and something else that made his heartbeat falter. Despair?

 

He was startled for a moment, but then he decided that it wasn’t his problem. He was doing enough by saving Spock’s life, and he wasn’t about to give any more of himself to the greedy bastard.

 

Kirk sat up a little and punched the mat with his fist before plopping down again. “How am I supposed to sleep on this slab of rock? If I at least had a fucking pillow…”

 

Kirk curled in on himself, simply too exhausted to sort through any more of his emotions. He closed his eyes and thought about the _Enterprise_ , picturing himself in the captains chair and in control again.

 

The image soothed him, and he began to drift.

 

He wasn’t sure how long he had been asleep, but when he woke up it was still dark out. He estimated that he had only been out for a couple of hours, and readjusted his blanket, burrowing his face into his pillow.

 

His eyes flew open.

 

He sat up and looked down to see that his head had been resting on a folded up blanket. Spock’s blanket. He turned and looked over at Spock. The Vulcan was asleep mere inches away from him, his lean, naked body shivering slightly. Kirk felt a strange pressure in his chest, and an alien emotion coursing through him. He didn’t want to analyze it, didn’t want to understand what it was that was making him feel both happy and miserable at the same time.

 

Frowning slightly, he laid down and scooted toward Spock until his back was pressed against Spock’s chest, then he threw his blanket over both of them. He had Spock’s arm pulled over his waist and those long fingers reflexively curled in a stroking motion before going still. Spock sighed softly against him, and Kirk tried to silence the confusion that was scattering his thoughts.

 

It was some time before he was able to fall asleep again.

 

The next time he woke, it was to the feeling of a very firm cock sliding between his thighs. Spock’s arms were around him, one skillful hand stroking him to full arousal. This felt different than before. Spock seemed focused on Kirk, his own pleasure secondary as he stroked and fondled the man in his arms.

 

Kirk reached back and cupped a hand on Spock’s ass, pulling them more firmly together. The low growling sound that rumbled in Spock’s chest made Kirk’s cock twitch. When he felt Spock start to push into him he threw a leg up and over Spock’s legs, moving his hips back and groaning as Spock’s full length slid into him. 

 

Spock moved slowly in and out of him, and the dull ache mixed deliciously with exquisite pleasure. Spock seemed content to keep up a slow pace, gasping small sounds against Kirk’s skin, but each time Spock pulled almost all the way out Kirk felt a torturous emptiness that begged to be filled.

 

He slammed back against Spock, impaling himself deeply, and ground out, “Harder.”

 

Spock moved faster, and Kirk’s pleasure began to build with each firm thrust. Kirk stroked himself, lost in the feeling of Spock filling him up. Spock nuzzled into his hair, then laid a path of kisses down Kirk’s neck and over his shoulders, stopping to suckle at the bruised and abraded skin where he had bitten Kirk. As his breathing became labored he bit down on Kirk’s shoulder, more gently this time, and held on to him with his teeth as he began to fuck him with more forceful, almost frantic thrusts.

 

Kirk felt it when Spock was close, sensing his pleasure peaking through the touch of their skin, and he gripped his own cock more tightly, squeezing over the head with each downward stroke.

 

His orgasm tore through him, and he jerked away, only to be pulled back as Spock pounded into his ass once, twice, three more times before finding his own release. Kirk whimpered softly as he felt Spock’s cock throbbing inside his aching ass, filling him up with hot come.

 

Lying next to Spock afterward, with the sky glowing the deep orange of morning, Kirk felt a strange calm wash over him.

 

The quick rise and fall of Spock’s chest drew his eyes and he smiled a little as he took in Spock’s blissful expression. He felt that although things might never be the same between them, he had not lost anything by doing this. He did not feel like less—not less of a man, or less of a leader. In fact, he felt more secure, and proud to have been the one that saved Spock’s life.

 

Perhaps this would deepen the trust between them. It was a pleasant thought, that he might be able to rely on someone else to watch out for him. Still smiling, he reached out a hand and ran it over Spock’s chest, stroking the soft black hair and soaking up the warmth and contentment he was radiating.

 

Spock dozed off beneath his hand, and Kirk rubbed along his ribs, and up and down his sides until he found what he was looking for.

  
He pressed his hand down more firmly, something long-quiet in him leaping to life as he felt Spock’s heart beating beneath his palm.


	2. Chapter 2

 

\- **The Interrogation** -

  
  


Kirk watched as Spock shifted from one foot to the other, standing on his toes to take some of the weight off his wrists, which were bound above his head. He slipped, and for a moment dangled, choking back a strangled cry.

 

“Where is your father?” Kirk asked. “Spock!”

 

Spock regained his footing and looked up at Kirk. He took a long breath and then simply shook his head.

 

Kirk’s fingers tightened around the handle of the braided whip, and the metal-tipped tresses glinted as he gave it an agitated flick with his wrist.

 

“Spock, do you really want to keep doing this?” Kirk asked. “You were in contact with him just before he fled. He must have told you something. You must have known what he was up to. You knew he was a traitor, but you kept his secret. You let him get away.”

 

He stepped closer to Spock, swallowing down bile as his foot slipped a little on the blood-slick floor. He kept his face neutral, though, and his voice even.

 

“But the Empire might show you a little leniency if you cooperate now. Maybe you should stop worrying so much about protecting your father.” Kirk gulped quietly, but went on, “What about your mother?”

 

Spock’s head jerked up and he finally met Kirk’s eyes.

 

Kirk forced his lips into a smirk. “No one is accusing your mother of anything. If your parents are caught, if you help us catch them, she won't be harmed. Do you really want your mother to live a life on the run? She could be killed tomorrow, all because you were too proud to give in.”

 

Spock’s eyes widened a little, and the hurt Kirk saw there in response to his words was more profound than any pain he had inflicted on Spock physically.

 

Kirk steeled himself against the anguish on Spock’s face. He refused to think about any of the long, revealing conversations they’d had in the early morning hours, reminiscing about their childhoods and their families. He wouldn’t think about Spock’s open expression as he’d told Kirk stories of his life on Vulcan, and his mother.

 

Kirk’s eye was caught by a rivulet of blood running down Spock’s side. Kirk mentally shook himself, focusing instead on Spock’s eyes.

 

“Where is Ambassador Sarek?” he asked.

 

“I cannot betray my father.” Spock’s voice was breathy with pain.

 

“Then you are betraying the Empire,” Kirk said. “You know what that means, don’t you?”

 

Spock said nothing, but arched his back a little and hissed softly as his skin stretched, pulling at the gashes on his side and chest. Again Kirk’s eyes wandered to a deep wound on his side, where the blood was still running freely. The cut was above the familiar scar over Spock’s heart.

 

“Spock?” Kirk was still staring at that scar, his heart beginning to thud painfully in his chest.

 

“Yes, Captain.” Spock’s voice seemed to crackle with agony. Kirk moved a little closer, clutching the handle of the whip so tightly that his knuckles went white.

 

“Spock,” Kirk whispered, too low for the recording devices to pick up. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep this up.

 

Spock let his head droop and closed his eyes again, the only escape available to him.

 

  
  


\- **Two Weeks After The Pon Farr** -

  
  


Kirk had never been in Spock’s quarters before. He walked the perimeter of the cabin, and though he stopped to closely examine the objects on the shelves and hanging on the walls, he didn’t touch anything. He wasn’t afraid of Spock—he wouldn’t be doing this if he was—but he had a grudging respect for the man and wasn’t about to go poking through his things, despite his curiosity.

 

It briefly occurred to him that, given what he was planning on doing to Spock, this small courtesy didn’t count for much. He knew there was a chance this might not go well at all, but he had saved Spock’s life, and as far as he was concerned, Spock owed him one.

 

Satisfied with his brief tour of the room, Kirk sat down at Spock’s desk to wait for his arrival. They had gone off shift at the same time, but Spock had mentioned checking up on some experiments in the labs, so there was really no telling when he’d be back.

 

Kirk stretched his legs out under the desk readied his phaser, resting it on his lap, but keeping his finger on the trigger.

 

Kirk whistled to himself, letting his thoughts wander back to Vulcan and the heated couple of days when his body had been at Spock’s mercy. It was true, by the end of it he had been half-mad with lust himself, but he couldn’t just pretend that it hadn’t happened. Spock never gave any hint that he thought less of Kirk for submitting to him. In fact, since Vulcan he seemed almost eager to prove to Kirk that he was an obedient, loyal first officer. But it wasn’t enough.

 

During the pon farr Kirk had felt something between them, a tingle of electricity that pulsed through Spock’s skin and into his, making him burn with desire. But there had been more than that, too. There had been something deep and needy between them that had frightened Kirk to his core.

 

It was one thing to trust Spock not to kill him, but something else entirely to need him, to crave his presence whenever he wasn't around.

 

Kirk frowned and fingered the trigger of the phaser. The heat in the cabin was getting to him, and his eyelids began to droop closed, but he would be ready. It occurred to him that he could adjust the environmental controls, make it cooler in here, but he had a sudden vision of a curled up Vulcan shivering in the chilled desert air, and he remained still.

 

His eyes closed, and he fell into a light sleep. He was aware of the room around him, and of the phaser in his hand, but his body felt light, as though he was floating. It pleased him to know that if Spock found him like this, napping at his desk, he would not harm him.

 

He smiled, slipping a little deeper.

 

The sound of the door whooshing open brought him to full awareness in a second. Spock might not hurt him, but if he got the jump on Kirk his plans would go to shit.

 

Spock had stopped and was watching Kirk with an incredulous expression, his hands clasped behind his back. Kirk grinned at him, sitting up but keeping the phaser out of sight. He had to appreciate how quick Spock was when the Vulcan’s eyes dropped to Kirk’s hidden hand and his face went frighteningly blank.

 

“Captain. May I help you?” Spock asked, the edge in his voice razor sharp.

 

“Yes. Yes, you can,” Kirk said. “You have something I want.”

 

The faint crease on Spock’s brow betrayed his confusion for only a moment before he asked, “Yes? And what is that?”

 

Kirk wet his lips and leaned forward. “You.”

 

Spock suddenly seemed to be carved from marble, even his chest going still as though he could not so much as draw a breath. Kirk looked him up and down, his skin growing hot at the sight of Spock’s slender form, high cheekbones, and dark eyes. He was beautiful, in a strange, exotic kind of way.

 

The sight of Kirk leering at him galvanized him into action and Spock leapt toward the desk with alarming speed.

 

Kirk was faster.

 

The beam from the phaser hit Spock in the chest just before he reached Kirk, and he collapsed with a heavy thud to the floor. Heart pounding, but pleased to have succeeded, Kirk set down the phaser and went around the side of the desk to look down at his prize. He rolled Spock over, and ran his fingers over Spock’s face, up a slanted eyebrow, and then down the pointed curve of an ear.

 

He frowned a little when he noticed a lump forming on Spock’s forehead, a small cut at its center. He wiped away the droplet of green blood, and though he could not have said why, he smoothed the dark bangs back into place.

 

With a sigh, he hoisted Spock up and over his shoulder, carrying him over to the bed. He dumped him down and then began to undress him. When Spock was naked, his uniform and boots in a messy pile on the floor, Kirk sat back and admired the pale, lean body.

 

Eager to get down to business, he opened the bag at his feet and began to pull out the items he’d need. He picked up the rope and ran it through the steel hoop he had anchored to the wall at the head of the bed, and then secured Spock’s wrists over his head. He checked and double checked the knots, all too familiar with the wiry, dangerous strength Spock possessed, and not wanting to fall victim to it again.

 

He picked up the dagger, and laid it on the bed next to Spock. No, this time it would be Spock who was helpless.

 

After a moment of thought he pulled out more rope and lifted up Spock’s left leg. He wrapped rope around the lower part of the leg, then bound it to Spock’s thigh, then did the same to the other leg. Spock would be able to spread his legs, but he wouldn’t be able to kick Kirk and injure him that way.

 

Satisfied with his work, he sat back and waited for Spock to regain consciousness.

 

When he started to feel restless after several minutes, he strolled around the room, stretching his arms and legs, and then began pulling off his clothes. When he was was naked but for his pants he went back to the bed and sat on the floor with his back against it. The phaser had been set to light stun, so Spock wouldn’t be out for too long.

 

He was just beginning to grow impatient when he became aware that the quality of Spock’s breathing had changed. He was waking up.

 

Feeling equal parts nervous and excited, Kirk got up and sat down on the bed next to Spock. Spock tossed his head and cringed as though in pain, then slowly opened his eyes.

 

“Good, you’re awake. I wouldn’t want you to miss out on any of the fun,” Kirk said, crossing his arms over his chest.

 

Spock thrashed violently for a moment, testing his bonds, and then went still. He glared at Kirk, and the anger that contorted his face as he spoke was almost enough to make Kirk lose his nerve. “Release me.”

 

“No, I don’t think so.” Kirk picked up the dagger, and carefully ran his finger along its edge. A small drop of red appeared. “Damn, I’d better be careful. This is sharp.”

 

And with that he reached out and pressed the blade lightly against Spock’s neck.

 

“Captain…” Spock started. He closed his mouth when Kirk shushed him, but his eyes flashed dangerously.

 

“Don’t distract me. If my hand slips,” Kirk’s wrist twitched, drawing a line of green, “I could cut your throat. We don’t want that, do we?”

 

Kirk moved between Spock’s legs, and then lifted the dagger. He pressed the flat of the blade against Spock’s cheek and slowly dragged it down. “I could kill you right now, and there would be nothing you could do about it. You’re helpless, Spock.” Kirk leaned down and licked the cut on Spock’s neck. “How does that feel?”

 

Spock bucked up, but with his legs so awkwardly tied he was unable to dislodge Kirk. He twisted his body and yanked his wrists down, but the rope held and Kirk managed to get the knife pressed against his throat again. Spock stopped his struggling, but his eyes did not promise cooperation.

 

“Let me go.” Spock’s lips pulled into a snarl, but his voice was perfectly even. “If you do this to me, I will—”

 

“You’ll what, kill me?” Kirk said with a faint sneer. “Is that any way to repay the man who saved your life?"

 

Spock seemed to bite down on whatever words he’d been about to say, and after a several moments of silence Kirk went on. “Did you think I’d just forget about what happened on Vulcan? Hmm? Did you really think you could hurt me, use me the way you did, and suffer no consequences? If so, you’re not nearly as smart as everyone thinks you are, _Commander_.”

 

All the anger seemed to drain out of Spock, and his face went pale. “You did not have to…”

 

“Oh, shut up. I did what I had to do. And I think we both know that once we started you wouldn’t have let me back out. You would have forced me, maybe even killed me. I was powerless.”

 

Spock swallowed hard and said nothing.

 

“Now, it’s your turn,” Kirk said. “And if you fight me like that again, I’ll gut you. Do you understand?”

 

Some of the color began to seep back into Spock’s skin, a faint flush forming on his cheeks and chest. Kirk could practically see the gears turning in his logical head, and he knew he had won.

 

“Very well. I will submit, if you feel that discharges my debt to you.” Spock’s eyes never left the knife as he spoke.

 

Kirk grinned.

 

“You offering to submit, that implies that you have a choice in the matter.” Kirk adjusted his grip on the dagger, and delighted in the subtle widening of Spock’s eyes as he watched the weapon. “You don’t.”

 

In a quick, smooth movement, Kirk swiped the edge of knife across Spock’s chest, and then watched in satisfaction as emerald beads of blood welled up. Spock gasped, then clenched his teeth and made no other sound, even when Kirk lowered the blade again and made a second cut beneath the first. When he squeezed his eyes shut Kirk put the knife to his throat again.

 

“Keep your eyes open,” Kirk said.

 

Spock obediently opened his eyes and glared at Kirk. When Kirk cut into him again, another shallow cut on his chest, Spock’s eyes dropped, but he didn’t close them. It pleased Kirk to see the usually stoic Vulcan so unsettled. Kirk found himself becoming aroused, and dragged his fingers over the parallel cuts, smearing the blood down Spock’s chest. He lifted his hand and stared thoughtfully at his green-stained fingertips.

 

He reached down and pressed his fingers against Spock’s mouth. Spock started to jerk his head away, but aborted the movement, pressing his lips into a thin line.

 

“Open your mouth,” Kirk commanded.

 

Hesitantly, Spock did, and Kirk slipped his fingers inside.

 

“Suck them clean,” Kirk said, his voice coming out breathy.

 

Spock’s lips closed around his fingers, and Kirk felt Spock’s tongue drag over them as he gently sucked. The warmth that had been pooling in Kirk’s groin flared into a needy heat, and he only just managed to keep from groaning. He needed to remain not only in control of Spock, but also himself. He pulled his fingers out, leaving Spock’s lips parted, moist. He was pleased to note that Spock’s breath was coming quicker, his pupils dilated.

 

“You like that?” He asked, trailing his fingers down Spock’s neck.

 

“No,” was the brusque reply. Kirk couldn’t help but chuckle at that.

 

Kirk reached down and unbuttoned his pants, then pulled his cock free. He was fully hard already, hopelessly turned on by the sight of the tied up Vulcan at his mercy. He gave himself a few careless strokes.

 

“Are you ready for me, Commander?” he asked, roughly pushing Spock’s legs up to his chest and shoving a pillow beneath his hips.

 

“Does it matter if I am?” There was a petulant note in Spock’s voice that made Kirk smile.

 

“No. It doesn’t matter at all.” Kirk placed the dagger down on the bed so that Spock could see it if he turned his head. “I think you’re getting the hang of this.”

 

Spock turned his head slightly in the other direction, refusing to acknowledge the dagger.

 

“I think I’ll give you about as much consideration as you gave me.” Kirk reached down over the side of the bed and retrieved the lubricant. The tension in Spock’s muscles and the stony blankness of his expression sent a thrill of satisfaction through Kirk. He wanted Spock to feel as he had felt. He wanted him to hurt.

 

Kirk poured the lube into his hand and rubbed it onto his cock, then added a little more to his fingers. He pushed Spock’s legs further up and apart, and then shoved a finger into Spock. Spock jumped, and had just started to settle down again when Kirk added another finger, working them into Spock. When he began to shove them forcefully in and out Spock sucked in a quick breath of air, letting his head fall back. He looked vulnerable, spread out before Kirk with his hands bound and his legs open, and Kirk’s cock grew almost painfully hard at the sight as he maneuvered himself over Spock.

 

Not wanting to give Spock time to prepare himself, Kirk lined himself up and shoved in, burying himself deep in Spock’s ass. Hearing Spock let out one loud, sharp cry stoked Kirk’s fires, and he pulled out all the way only to ram back in again. Another, smaller sound escaped Spock, and Kirk repeated the move until Spock finally gained control over his himself and fell silent.

 

Leaning forward and digging his nails into the cuts on Spock’s chest, Kirk began to pound into him with hard but measured strokes.

 

Kirk could tell that Spock was putting tremendous effort into controlling his reactions to the brutal pounding he was taking, but cracks slowly appeared in his stoic facade. His forehead scrunched and his mouth fell open, his breath coming hotter and harder over lips swollen from his frantic biting. His hands were clenched into fists, and he gave the ropes around his wrists a quick jerk whenever Kirk gave a particularly violent thrust.

 

Kirk was soaring, the grasping heat around his cock as unbearably good as the sight of Spock’s trembling arms and the panting breaths he was beginning to take. Kirk wanted more, though more of what he could not have said.

 

“Look at me,” he found himself snapping out. “I want you to watch me fuck you.”

 

Spock opened his eyes and for a moment Kirk felt as though he was falling. He didn’t see the anger he thought he’d find in those depths, or even the indifference that Spock had been trying to feign so far. In Spock’s eyes he saw determination, fever, and a pain that he was certain had no connection to the physical discomfort Kirk was inflicting on him. Kirk had seen that look before, on Vulcan.

 

Kirk’s rhythm faltered, but when he felt Spock’s bent knees press against him, urging him on, he moaned and slammed into him with abandon.

 

Still, he wanted something more. In his mind he saw a flash of red sand and thrashing limbs, and he briefly knew again the mutual pleasure he and Spock had experienced as the pon farr had waned. He hadn’t felt so trapped, so used then, as he and Spock had become tangled up in each other.

 

That was what he wanted.

 

He told himself that he had made his point, and he picked up the dagger. Spock could not conceal his fear and confusion, and tugged at his bonds as Kirk sat up, still buried in inside him, and thoughtfully considered the blade.

 

Taking a deep breath, Kirk grabbed one of Spock’s legs and carefully sawed through the rope until it fell away. Spock’s eyes widened, and he kept himself very still, as though afraid any movement might startle Kirk, might make him change his mind. Once the ropes on the other leg had been cut, Spock wrapped both legs around Kirk, rocking himself on Kirk’s cock.

 

Kirk caught Spock’s head in his hands and leaned forward to press their foreheads together. Kirk’s heart was pounding as they panted against each other’s mouths. He tilted his head down and gently brushed his lips over Spock’s. Though Spock’s beard was rough and scratchy against him, he was surprised by the softness of his lips.

 

Kirk sat up slowly, rolling his hips to slide gently in and out of Spock as he did. He wanted to trust Spock, wanted to believe that they could be more to each other than this, this savage joining of bodies. Trust was not easy, but he felt _need_.

 

Kirk placed the tip of the knife over Spock’s heart and pressed down in warning, slicing pale flesh and drawing more blood. “If you try anything…”

 

“James,” Spock pleaded.

 

Kirk’s breath caught in his throat.

 

Before he could change his mind he reached up and cut Spock’s wrists free.

 

In a flash Spock had both arms clamped around Kirk like bands of steel, and for a moment Kirk cursed himself, sure that Spock would take his revenge. Spock did not try to dislodge him, though.

 

Kirk gasped as Spock’s legs pulled him closer, deeper, and Spock swallowed up the sound in a bruising kiss. Kirk, tasted blood, his own, Spock’s, and began to thrust into Spock with renewed vigor. Spock was growing hard between them, and all inhibition seemed to fall away as he lifted up to meet each thrust of Kirk’s hips. Kirk’s sweat dripped down into his eyes and he shook his head, leaning into Spock and grunting with pleasure as Spock’s hands moved down to clutch at his ass and slam them together.

 

Spock was crying out in time with Kirk’s movements, and the sound of his frenzied abandon drove Kirk to the edge. Desperate to somehow be closer to Spock, to possess him more fully, Kirk cupped a hand around the back of Spock’s neck and pulled him into another kiss, plunging his tongue into that gasping mouth.

 

Instinctively knowing that Spock was aware of more than just the physical sensations between them, Kirk gathered up in his mind all of his desire and pushed it at Spock.

 

Spock did not last long after that.

 

Spock’s body went rigid, his head falling back and his nails digging into Kirk’s skin. He groaned helplessly as his come spilled out against them both in heated spurts. Kirk pulled the now limp legs over his shoulders and fucked Spock hard and fast as his own orgasm approached.

 

When he came, shooting his load deep inside Spock, he felt a moment of weightlessness, as though his mind had been flung from his body.

 

In that moment, he was not alone, his consciousness seeming to crash into Spock’s.

 

Kirk opened his eyes to find himself lying on his side next to Spock. It took him some time to catch his breath, and even longer to feel as though he was fully in his own head again. When his heart rate had gone back to normal and his mind had settled into its usual, lonely state, he sat up to examine Spock.

 

Spock was on his back, his arms limp at his sides and his head turned slightly toward Kirk. His eyes were half-lidded and slightly glazed, as if he had yet to come down from the heights he had flown to. Kirk felt concern when he noticed that Spock was still breathing too fast, blood trickling from his wounds with each rise of his chest. Most of the cuts were shallow, but the one over his heart was bleeding more heavily. Kirk rested his palm over the wound, putting pressure on it.

 

Spock’s eyes cleared and grew a little wider. At his questioning look, Kirk explained, “I cut you too deep. I didn’t mean to do that.”

 

“It is nothing. Once I have brought order to my mind I will be able to stop the bleeding.”

 

“You can control your body like that…with your mind?” Kirk asked, intrigued.

 

“Mmmhmm,” Spock affirmed, and Kirk grinned at his sudden lack of eloquence.

 

“Alright. Good.” Kirk settled down next to him again, this time on his back, and then he kicked off his pants and threw them on the floor. “I’m going to sleep here tonight. Will that be a problem?”

 

Part of Kirk still expected Spock to turn on him, but his pride wouldn’t allow him to express that fear. He stretched his arms and then put his hands behind his head, gazing around Spock’s cabin in apparent unconcern. When his eyes drifted back to Spock he could have sworn he saw the faintest curl at the corner of his lips.

 

But then Spock was looking at him with a serious expression, and Kirk wondered if those lips even knew how to smile.

 

Spock shook his head. “It is not a problem.”

 

Kirk grunted and retrieved the pillow, stuffing it under his head and squirming around to make himself more comfortable.

 

“It will never be a problem,” Spock said after Kirk had stopped fussing.

 

Kirk bit at the inside of his cheek, and the strange fluttering in his chest made him feel breathless. Wanting to distract himself from the feeling, he said, “I want you to see McCoy in the morning. That cut is going to leave a scar if you don’t get it taken care of.”

 

Spock said nothing, but slid one hand over Kirk’s belly and let it rest there, heavy and possessive. The initial urge to throw it off passed quickly, and Kirk sighed, already falling asleep.

 

Though it amazed Kirk to realize it, he felt safe.

 

Spock did not visit McCoy in the morning. He kept the scar.


	3. Chapter 3

\- **The Interrogation** -

 

When Kirk entered the room, Spock was strapped down on the table again, Gavorak standing over him with a club in his hand.

 

Gavorak smiled broadly and pointed the club at Spock.

 

“You know what they say about Vulcan hand sensitivity,” he said, looking pleased.

 

His stomach dropping, Kirk looked down to see that Spock’s right hand was bloody, the slender fingers broken and bent like jagged claws. Gavorak was standing on Spock’s left side, apparently just getting started on that hand.

 

Pushing through roiling nausea, Kirk said, “Let me take it from here.”

 

He knew his tone was caustic, and perhaps too revealing, but with his energy focused on keeping himself from vomiting, Kirk let his voice get away from him. Gavorak eyed Kirk suspiciously. Then, in a swift, sudden movement, he brought the club down on Spock’s left hand.

 

Spock screamed.

 

The sound tore into Kirk and left him biting down on a startled gasp. Gavorak stepped away from the table, swinging the club as went, and Kirk began to tremble with rage. As Gavorak passed by Kirk he held out the club, and Kirk took it.

 

Kirk sneered at Spock, though the disgust he was feeling was aimed entirely at his new first officer. Kirk was slipping. He had to keep his emotions in check or he’d have hellfire raining down on his head.

 

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath when he realized Gavorak meant to linger. He hated doing this in front of the man. He hated Gavorak’s smug, leering face, and his cruel laughter whenever Spock’s composure shattered and he howled in pain.

 

And Spock did voice his agony more often than not these days. He had been beaten and electrocuted and deprived of food and water until he was near death. His control was understandably shaken, if not yet completely broken. There was still the faint gleam of willful light in Spock’s eyes, but it was fading all too quickly.

 

More than once Kirk had been tempted to kill Spock quickly, mercifully, so that he wouldn’t have to suffer another day of relentless torment.

 

The look on Spock’s face at the moment was becoming all too familiar to Kirk. Spock’s eyes rolled back into his head and then snapped forward again as he tried and failed to retreat into some dark corner of his mind, where he could temporarily escape what was being done to his body. Spock tried and tried again, his eyelids fluttering, and Kirk hated himself for calling him back.

 

“Spock.” Kirk leaned over him and tried again. “Spock, wake up.”

 

Spock jerked his head to one side and then the other before focusing on Kirk. He looked tired and confused, his eyebrows pulling toward each other in a frown.

 

“T’hy’la!” It was a heartrending whisper that slipped out from between Spock’s cracked and bleeding lips, betraying hope and longing.

 

Kirk almost broke, then.

 

“Wake up,” Kirk repeated, hoping the small catch in his voice wasn’t too obvious. “I need to ask you some questions, and I hope this time you’ll be smart enough to answer.”

 

He could feel Gavorak’s eyes on him and he silently cursed the man. He knew others would see footage of the interrogation, but that was something far away and impersonal. The immediate presence of the man who had taken so much pleasure in torturing Spock, whose cruel words and crueler actions had helped to break Spock’s body and spirit, was almost more than Kirk could bear.

 

Spock’s vision seemed to clear a little and his confusion evaporated. Kirk could see by the look in his eyes that he now knew where he was and what was happening to him.

 

“Starfleet Command is growing impatient, Spock, but it’s not too late,” Kirk said once he was sure he had Spock’s attention. “Just tell us what you know about Sarek.”

 

“No,” Spock said.

 

Kirk heard Gavorak shifting around, but ignored him, holding Spock’s gaze. “Why are you giving up so much to protect him? Why do you care what happens to him when he obviously doesn’t give a shit what happens to you?”

 

Kirk put a hand on the table, leaning heavily on it as the obvious uncertainty on Spock’s face impaired Kirk’s ability to remain upright. Spock almost looked as if he wanted to obey Kirk, and not because he feared the torture. Even now, after Kirk had contributed to the broken state of his body, Spock’s first impulse was to give Kirk what he wanted.

 

Spock's clarity returned, though, and he shook his head. “I will not tell you anything. It does not matter what you do to me. I will not betray my family.”

 

Despite the weak, shaky quality of Spock’s voice, he had managed to convey the strength of his conviction, and Kirk could already see him mentally preparing for the next round of torture.

 

When Gavorak noisily cleared his throat and crossed his arms impatiently over his chest, Kirk realized he couldn’t drag this out anymore. It was his turn to interrogate Spock, and he could not risk arousing suspicion by continuing to question Spock when it was clear that he was still not willing to cooperate.

 

Kirk looked down at Spock’s hands, remembering all the times those fingers had caressed him, bringing him pleasure, or joining their minds. Spock’s touch had been his only source of joy for the past two years.

 

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t hurt him anymore. He wondered if he could fool Gavorak by pretending to be ill and leaving.

 

He didn’t think so.

 

Kirk was clutching the club so tightly that his fingers were beginning to ache. He was tempted to throw it across the room, or better yet, simply turn around and bash Gavorak’s brains out. But where would that leave him? How would that help Spock?

 

Gavorak began stroll around the perimeter of the room, his eyes locked on Kirk.

 

Spock kicked his foot, a feeble movement that nonetheless drew Kirk’s attention away from Gavorak. Though his face and body remained slack, Spock’s eyes filled with fire as he looked into Kirk’s. Kirk saw his lips part and leaned closer.

 

“Do it,” Spock said, so low that Kirk almost couldn’t hear him. “You must…”

 

Spock’s voice trailed off into a shuddering breath, but the desperation in Spock’s eyes spoke volumes to Kirk. Spock had given up, he had accepted that he would not survive this, and he did not want Kirk to go down with him.

 

The Empire must not know what Spock meant to him, what they meant to each other, or he would be suspect, too. Kirk knew this, knew that more than anything Spock wanted him to survive. But Kirk’s strength was almost depleted, his heart in tatters. Spock continued to watch him, his eyes entreating, and Kirk finally stepped back.

 

He moved away from Spock’s hands, though, walking to the end of the table. Gavorak settled back against the wall, ever vigilant. Kirk looked into Spock’s eyes for a moment, and they seemed to be silently urging him on.

 

He gritted his teeth and raised the club.

 

His vision began to blur as he brought it down with furious yell.

  
  


\- **One Year And Five Months Ago** -

  
  


Kirk sauntered toward his quarters, chest out and arms swinging casually at his sides.

 

His manufactured self-assurance was fragile, though, so he was grateful when he passed no one else in the halls.

 

The night had been a disaster.

 

The _Enterprise_ had picked up the Marchioness Annan Rankenn of Haxelta to convey her to Earth to discuss a possible trade agreement. Haxelta was a border region possessing advanced weapons technology and a wealth of natural resources, and it was for this reason that the Empire wanted to bring them into the fold.

 

Unfortunately, they were a race that was not easily conquered, so the Empire was being forced to resort to diplomacy rather than force.

 

Annan Rankenn was a beautiful woman, with golden-yellow skin and a strong, voluptuous body, so it should have caused Kirk no difficulty to comply with Starfleet Command’s order that he do whatever necessary to make the Marchioness feel welcome. A year earlier and he wouldn’t have had a problem.

 

But now…now he had Spock.

 

He could only hope that Spock was already asleep, so that he could avoid a confrontation. Though they had no formal agreement regarding their relationship, he was certain Spock would not be happy about what had occurred between Kirk and the Marchioness. Spock might pretend to be emotionless, but Kirk knew he was a deeply passionate and possessive man who was capable of great violence when he felt it was warranted.

 

Kirk had been unable to think of anything but Spock as Annan Rankenn had stripped them both of their clothes and pushed him down onto her bed.

 

Her hands had trailed over his skin, and where he should have felt arousal he felt revulsion. Kirk had tried to force his body to respond to her, had closed his eyes and imagined Spock’s subtle scent, and his deep voice reverberating through him, and at first that had made it easier.

 

When she had wrapped her legs around him and guided him inside her, breathing alien curses in his ear, he had been unable to maintain the illusion and his erection had quickly flagged.

 

Rankenn’s disappointed glare burning into the back of his head, Kirk had left her room feeling impotent and humiliated.

 

Kirk stood in front of his own door for several minutes, fighting to steady his nerves. He knew Spock would most likely be asleep—Kirk had told him he would be busy with ship’s business and Spock planned to get up well before his shift started to check on some of his personal projects—but still he hesitated.

 

He opened the door, took a deep breath, and walked into his quarters.

 

Spock was not asleep.

 

Kirk came to an abrupt stop when he realized Spock was sitting at his desk, but quickly recovered and walked to the bed, stretching and smiling over his shoulder.

 

“Thought you’d be asleep,” he said.

 

“I kept myself busy so that I would be awake when you arrived. I thought we might spend some time together.” Spock switched off the computer terminal and stood up. If Kirk didn’t know better he’d have said Spock looked nervous.

 

“Yeah, we’ve both been busy lately, haven’t we?” Kirk turned away from Spock and began to untie his sash. “I’m actually really tired, so I think I’ll go to sleep.”

 

“James.” The deep whisper at his ear nearly made Kirk jump. “Let me.”

 

Spock’s hands reached around him and began to work the sash loose, but suddenly Spock’s body went rigid against him.

 

Kirk felt Spock’s breath gust out against his neck, and then heard him inhale sharply, and he knew he was caught. Spock turned Kirk slowly, and stared into his eyes, his expression fierce and frantic.

 

“James?”

 

The question in his voice easily poked holes in Kirk’s meticulously maintained emotional armor. The question was full of Spock’s hope, his need for Kirk to somehow explain away what he knew to be true.

 

“Spock, it was nothing. It was just—”

 

“What have you done?” Spock looked stricken.

 

His hands fell away from Kirk’s waist, and Kirk immediately felt lost, empty. He turned, wanting to take Spock’s hands and pull him back, but Spock was backing away, his eyes growing darker and more cold by the moment. Kirk felt Spock slipping away, in more than just the physical sense, and the feeling made him want to destroy worlds.

 

“Spock, wait.”

 

Spock continued to back away from him, slowly moving toward the door, toward escape.

 

Desperate and angry, Kirk began to rant, to defend. “What the hell do you expect? I’m loyal to the Empire, and I’d do it again if they asked me to!” Kirk heard himself say.

 

Spock had stopped moving and something was happening behind his eyes. “You come back to me, smelling of another...”

 

“Spock, don’t—”

 

“You whore.” Spock spat the word at him, and it dripped with venom, a vile curse.

 

“You know what? Fuck you.” Kirk snarled, something in him bending dangerously to the breaking point. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. Get out.”

 

“You...” Spock rushed at him, and Kirk nearly tripped trying to get away. Spock caught him, one hand balling in his shirt and the other tangling in his hair, and slammed him into the wall.

 

The wind knocked out of him, Kirk couldn’t immediately protest when Spock began to rip his clothes off. The fabric tore in Spock’s hands, pulling painfully at Kirk’s skin before falling to the ground in shreds. Spock knocked Kirk down to take off his boots, and then Kirk found himself naked and struggling beneath Spock’s cruelly gripping hands.

 

“Don’t touch me!” he yelled, trying to move out from under Spock.

 

For a moment he thought Spock might take him there on the floor, but then he felt himself being yanked up with such force that his feet left the floor. He found himself up against the wall again, his head being yanked back as Spock’s breath gusted against his ear.

 

Spock’s boots were stepping on his feet, crushing his toes, and Spock’s body was pressing so firmly into his that he struggled to draw each breath. Spock reached down, grabbed Kirk’s genitals, and squeezed until Kirk screamed.

 

“Whore,” he hissed in Kirk’s ear. When he pulled back his eyes were wild, pained. He gave Kirk another rough squeeze and then leaned in again, biting down on Kirk’s neck.

 

“Don’t!” Kirk clawed at Spock’s chest, trying to push him away.

 

Spock ignored him, reaching down to undo his own pants, and Kirk began to shake as his heart rate soared. This was not his Spock. This was something else, mindless, animal. He tried again to escape Spock’s iron grip, and failed.

 

“Spock, no!” he begged. Realizing there was nothing he could do, he let his body go limp, surrendering to whatever punishment Spock dealt out.

 

That he had brought them to this…Kirk felt remorse swamp him, drowning out his helpless anger.

 

Spock stepped back suddenly, and Kirk would have fallen to his knees if Spock’s hand hadn’t remained clenched in his hair. When Spock let go Kirk had just enough time to find his balance, and then Spock was dragging him into the bathroom.

 

He shoved Kirk into the shower stall and Kirk heard a quick succession of beeps as Spock adjusted the controls. The blast of cold water that hit him a moment later drew a surprised yelp out of him. He tried to fling himself back out of the spray, but Spock caught his arm and held him still, reaching for the soap dispenser with his other hand.

 

Spock began to rub at Kirk’s skin with his soapy hands, working up a foamy lather.

 

“Spock, please. It’s cold,” Kirk said, already shivering.

 

Spock did not acknowledge him, his eyes still distant and hardened. He continued to scrub every inch of Kirk’s skin, ignoring the soapy splashes of water that began to darken his sleeves, and Kirk said nothing else. Kirk’s teeth were chattering by the time Spock stepped back and stopped the flow of water.

 

He gasped when Spock yanked him out of the stall and into his arms, his fingers digging possessively into Kirk’s back and shoulders. Spock nuzzled into his neck, his lips moving softly against the wet skin as his breaths became ragged, uneven. Kirk was still shaken by everything that had just occurred, but he couldn’t help but reach up to stroke Spock’s back in comfort. Not when every line of Spock’s body was rigid with the anguish that he had put there.

 

“If my attentions are not sufficient, then we must terminate our relationship,” Spock said quietly against him. He did not release Kirk though, even when Kirk patted his back and tried to step away.

 

“Spock,” Kirk said, his tone as scolding as his guilt would allow. “Spock, I’m cold.”

 

His body was shaking so violently now that his muscles ached, and he was relieved when Spock let him go and pulled him back into his quarters. Still worried about making things worse by resisting, he allowed Spock to push him down onto the bed and he waited patiently as Spock stripped off his clothes and joined him.

 

Spock settled on top of him, uncharacteristically careless with his weight as he pinned Kirk to the bed.

 

“I feel the urge to do as my ancestors did. I wish to take you, to claim you,” Spock said. His voice was still too flat, too cold, but Kirk knew by the faint trembling of the fingers that were combing through his hair that Spock was feeling anything but distant or cold.

 

“Will you let me…” Spock trailed off, grinding his hips against Kirk.

 

Kirk was torn. At the moment he didn’t want to deny Spock anything, wanted only to somehow heal the breach between them. But he did not like the thought of submitting to Spock sexually after Spock had treated him so roughly. Old memories threatened to rise to the surface of his mind, harrowing visions of betrayal and cruel violation. Kirk licked his lips and turned his head so that Spock’s cheek was no longer pressed against his.

 

He began to feel panicked.

 

Spock raised up on his elbows and looked down at Kirk. Heat came into his eyes, and he seemed to reach a decision.

 

“Tell me that you belong to me,” Spock said.

 

“You know I do.” Kirk’s default emotion when he felt exposed or unsure was anger, and the animosity in his voice was at odds with the nature of his words.

 

Spock seemed satisfied, though, and reached between them to stroke Kirk’s cock. At first Kirk tried to clamp down on his desire, still sullen over having been made to feel so defenseless, but Spock’s hands were skilled and his mouth eager. Each tender, sucking kiss on his neck broke down Kirk’s resolve a little more, and by the time Spock moved down and began to lick and pinch his nipples Kirk was losing himself in pleasure.

 

Blood began to rush to his groin and Kirk arched up despite himself when Spock laid a trail of possessive kisses over his belly, stopping to tongue his navel. Spock abruptly flipped Kirk over onto his stomach, ignoring the weak protests as he began to apply the same treatment Kirk’s back. There was a tenderness in his touch that was almost as frightening to Kirk as Spock’s earlier rage had been.

 

Kirk started to squirm as Spock worked his way down, hands reverently cradling Kirk’s hips as he nipped a rounded buttock.

 

“Spock.” It came out low, inflectionless, but Spock heard the question.

 

“I wish to please you,” he said. _So that you do not seek pleasure in another_ remained unspoken.

 

Spock lifted Kirk’s hips a little and Kirk resisted the urge to wiggle out of his grasp. But when Spock released him he held the position. Spock kneaded Kirk’s ass, alternating between gently biting and kissing each cheek.

 

“Spock, you don’t have to—Oh, fuck!”

 

Spock’s thumbs had parted Kirk’s cheeks and he had licked a hot, wet path up the crease of Kirk’s ass. Kirk jumped a little, but Spock’s firm grip kept him from moving away as he began to lick and suck at the sensitive hole. Kirk moaned helplessly as Spock’s tongue pushed inside, then slid out with a firm, upward flick. He cursed when Spock repeated the movement, pushing a little deeper this time.

 

The tongue pulled out and teased the puckered skin, and then Spock’s thumbs pulled his cheeks wider apart, exposing him more fully. Kirk pressed his face into the pillow as cool air rushed over the wet, stimulated skin, followed by warm, even breaths.

 

When Spock’s tongue plunged into him, a sound very much like a whimper slipped through Kirk’s parted lips. Spock’s tongue began to fuck into Kirk, sending waves of lazy pleasure rippling through him. When Spock thrust his tongue deeper and lapped at him from within Kirk couldn’t stop himself from pushing back against that hungry mouth. Hands fisted in the sheets, Kirk groaned as Spock hummed against him, the vibrations creating in Kirk a sharp need for more.

 

“God, Spock! Just…” Kirk panted.

 

Spock pulled back enough to say, “Yes, James?”

 

“Fuck me! Please, just do it!”

 

Kirk had turned his head to the side and was breathing hard, overwhelmed by the desire to be filled up by Spock. Spock’s hands shifted their grip, sliding up to the small of Kirk’s back and lightly massaging the tight muscles there.

 

“No.” Spock’s breath was coming in warm little pants against Kirk’s ass.

 

Kirk’s groan this time was not one of pleasure. He sank down into the mattress, confused and frustrated. A moment later he felt Spock reaching over him to the place where they kept the lube, and he tried to sit up.

 

Spock’s strong hands caught him, though, and turned him onto his back, laying him back down on the bed.

 

“What are you doing?” Kirk asked. He was pleased that he managed to make himself sound more curious than uneasy.

 

Spock opened the bottle and squeezed some lube onto his hand, and then grasped Kirk’s cock in a loose fist. The touch was teasing, not enough, Spock’s slick fingers twisting lightly and then moving away. Kirk had just begun to process what was happening when Spock straddled his hips, lifted up, and then lowered himself down on Kirk’s eager erection.

 

The blush burning Spock’s cheeks green and the wide-eyed look he got as he sank down was just as good as the wet tightness gripping Kirk.

 

Kirk should have known Spock would find a way to work around his lover’s delicate mood. Spock remained still for a few moments, breathing heavily, and when he began to move he took by giving, claiming Kirk’s body by offering his own.

 

Kirk wasn’t sure how long he could last, as aroused as he already was, so he was relieved when Spock threw himself into it, quickly working himself up into a frenzy of passion on Kirk’s cock. He rode Kirk hard, sliding up and then slamming back down, fingers scrabbling at Kirk’s chest and shoulder. Spock threw his head back, and Kirk was awed by the sight of him, heavy lidded and completely lost to pleasure.

 

Spock began to bounce himself harder on Kirk’s cock, and Kirk strained up into him, thrusting as much as his position would allow. The first gasp seemed torn from Spock’s chest, a frantic, choked sound, but soon Spock was panting and letting forth a throaty utterance with each brutal impalement.

 

Spock’s arms began to tremble, and his cock, swollen green and bobbing between them, gave a jump as he came. Spock let out a sob and collapsed forward over Kirk, resting his head on Kirk’s muscular shoulder.

 

Kirk grasped Spock’s slender hips and thrust up into spock’s twitching hole, driving himself toward his own release. He came shortly after, cock pulsing and body arching up against Spock’s shuddering chest.

 

Unable to bear his weight for long, Kirk carefully shifted Spock to the side. Spock went willingly, though he kept and arm and a leg draped over Kirk. They lay that way for some time, occasional shivers passing through them as the last remnants of heady pleasure dissipated, leaving them calm and contented.

 

When Spock’s breathing finally evened out, he began move his hand over Kirk’s sweaty skin. The long fingers trailed down Kirk’s chest and back up again, gently stroking.

 

“You could have turned her down,” Spock said, his voice cutting through the tranquil silence.

 

Caught off guard, it took Kirk a moment to realize what Spock was talking about. Then he went stiff with anger.

 

“No, I couldn’t have. What excuse could I have given her? What could I have said?” Kirk asked defensively. “Somehow I don’t think me saying ‘Sorry, I’m in a...committed relationship with my first officer’ would go well for either of us.”

 

Spock didn’t answer, but continued to delicately caress Kirk with with his fingertips, slow and exploratory.

 

Kirk relaxed a little and turned his head to look into Spock’s eyes, which were heavy with thought. “No one can know about us. If command found out about us, they’d probably separate us. If the crew found out, they would use you against me. They’d hurt you to hurt me. You’re my weakness, Spock.”

 

“Am I?” Spock asked, looking genuinely curious.

 

“Yes, you are.”

 

Kirk sighed as Spock’s body seemed to go soft against him. He wrapped an arm around Spock and imagined what it would be like if they didn’t have to hide their relationship. The idea of openly caring for someone was alien to him. He wondered what it would feel like to take his shore leave with Spock, to stroll down sandy beaches together, and to walk unashamed, unafraid, through the bustling alien cities they visited.

 

That could never be, of course. They had their duty to do, and it didn’t include having a real relationship or giving themselves up to their emotions.

 

“We all have to do our part for the Empire,” Kirk mused aloud.

 

“ _Damn_ the Empire,” Spock growled.

 

Startled, Kirk turned to him. “Spock! Don’t say that.”

 

That Spock had stooped to using Terran profanity was alarming enough in itself, but if anyone caught wind of his treasonous attitude Spock could end up broken beneath the Empire’s heel. And that was not something Kirk could bear. Spock’s chest expanded in a deep, quiet breath.

 

“Promise me you’ll never act on whatever it is that you’re feeling right now.”

 

“James.” Spock almost sounded exasperated.

 

“I mean it. Promise me that you won’t do anything that will get you killed,” Kirk said. When Spock remained silent Kirk shook his arm and added, “Swear it, on whatever it is in the universe that matters to you.”

 

“Very well,” Spock said. “I swear it…on our bond.”

 

Kirk settled back down, chastising himself for being such a sentimental fool. There was a fragile link between them, the tentative beginnings of what could turn into a full Vulcan bond. Although Kirk had rejected the idea of being bonded to Spock for life, he was secretly pleased by the connection they had.

 

If he was honest with himself, it had come to mean a lot to him, too. It was something secret and profound, something to be jealously guarded. It was something that belonged only to him and to Spock, and he did not want it destroyed.

 

They would have to have a talk about Spock’s possessive behavior, but for the moment Kirk desired nothing more than to lie quietly in his lover’s arms.


	4. Chapter 4

\- **The Execution** -

 

Kirk switched off the terminal and sat back in his chair. For a moment he wondered if the environmental controls in his room had malfunctioned, because he suddenly felt cold, his skin prickling and his body beginning to tremble softly.

 

He had known this was coming. He told himself that he felt nothing, and stood up slowly, straightening his shoulders. Gavorak would be aware of their orders. At that moment the man was probably strolling onto the bridge for his shift with a spring in his step.

 

Kirk felt as though his legs were made of lead.

 

Despite his resolve to face this situation with a dispassion born of acceptance, he found himself wanting to lash out, to resist what must be.

 

Spock must die, and he, Kirk, must kill him.

 

His mind began to grasp for a solution, a way out, but he knew there was nothing he could do. There was no point in delaying the inevitable. He knew Gavorak was suspicious, and probably having Spock watched, so when his feet carried him to sickbay he did not go to the interrogation room.

 

Kirk stopped just outside McCoy’s office, and stared inside. It took McCoy a minute to notice him, and when he did, he jumped, banging his knee on his desk.

 

“Damn it all!” he spat, rubbing at his knee. “How long have you been standing there?”

 

Kirk didn’t answer, but walked into the office and stood near the empty chair in front of McCoy’s desk. He couldn’t bring himself to meet the doctor’s eyes, so he examined the office, taking in every detail as if he had never been there before. His gaze lingered on a display of ancient medical instruments, coming to rest on a gleaming antique scalpel.

 

“Captain? Something I can do for you?” McCoy asked warily. He had started to walk around his desk when Kirk entered, but now he seemed inclined to keep it between them.

 

Kirk swallowed and turned to face McCoy. Despite his obvious uneasiness, McCoy arched an eyebrow at whatever it was he was seeing in his captain’s expression. It remind Kirk of Spock. With monumental effort, Kirk ignored the sick twisting in his gut and drew himself up.

 

“Since information is not forthcoming, and an example needs to be made, I have been ordered to execute the former first officer of the _Enterprise_ in whatever manner I deem fit. Your presence will be required at the time of execution.”

 

“Alright.” McCoy crossed his arms over his chest and gave Kirk an assessing look.  “We’re due to make planetfall at Wrigleys in seventeen hours for shore leave, so I hope you don’t drag it out. I’ve got better things to do than watch you slowly murder your first officer.”

 

“First off, he is no longer my first officer. Secondly, it’s not murder. It’s an execution, for crimes against the Empire.”

 

“Crimes!” McCoy snorted, and then curled his lip in a sneer. “He didn’t do anything. And I bet he doesn’t know a damned thing either. You probably tortured him for nothing.”

 

“He knows,” Kirk murmured, though McCoy didn’t seem to hear.

 

“How many times did that crazy bastard save your life? You were lucky to have a First who didn’t want your head on a platter. Anyone else would have let you die, or put a knife between your ribs. Here you have someone loyal at your back and you’re just gonna throw him away like a—”

 

“I don’t have a choice!” Kirk bellowed, all of the things he had been trying to hide rising to the surface. With his heartbeat thundering in his ears, he collapsed into the chair next to him.

 

“You don’t want to do it,” McCoy said, looking astonished. “Were you two—”

 

Kirk was too miserable to appreciate the stunned look on the doctor’s face, so he slumped forward with his head in his hands. He heard McCoys footsteps, then the sound of the door sliding closed. A moment later McCoy activated the locking mechanism.

 

“My god,” McCoy said, his voice solemn and restrained.

 

There was a long silence, and when Kirk sat back up and curled his fists in his lap McCoy was sitting on the edge of his desk watching him, blue eyes filled with a sorrow that surprised him. He had heard it said that McCoy had a bit of a soft streak in him, but he had never seen it himself.

 

“Can’t you do something?” McCoy finally asked.

 

“No. Gavorak is out for blood. And he’s just waiting for me to screw up, I know it,” Kirk said, giving a rueful shake of his head. “Spock and I would both end up on the chopping block.”

 

McCoy looked thoughtful, then got up and went to the cupboard where he stored his booze. “You need a drink.”

 

Kirk sat back in the chair with a weary sigh. “Yeah. I need…”

 

His voice left him though, and he fell silent, staring blankly ahead. When McCoy pressed a glass tumbler into his hand he sipped automatically, but he tasted nothing. His mind was wandering ahead to what he must do.

 

*

 

McCoy arrived at the captain’s cabin shortly after Kirk’s morning alarm went off. Once he had let him in, Kirk staggered to the bathroom, running a thick tongue over his filmy teeth. When he came back out, after having relieved himself and brushed his teeth, McCoy approached him and raised a hand holding a hypospray.

 

“For the hangover,” he explained, before pressing it to Kirk’s neck.

 

There was a soft hiss, and soon after Kirk groaned gratefully.

 

“Commander Gavorak has been lingering around my sickbay like a bad smell,” McCoy said, stepping into the office area and leaning against the desk. “If you put it off too long he might take matters into his own hands.”

 

“He knows the...execution is set for 0700,” Kirk said, rummaging in his closet for a clean uniform.

 

McCoy averted his eyes when Kirk stripped down and began to dress for the day. Arms crossed over his chest, he said, “Yeah, but do you really trust him not to get antsy and do something stupid?”

 

Kirk had slipped into his pants, and was tugging on his boots when he answered, “He wouldn’t dare. He knows I’d keep him in the booth ‘till next Tuesday if he disregarded an order this important.” Kirk stood up and retrieved his gold vest. “As Captain, it’s my right, my responsibility to do this. He knows that.”

 

McCoy grunted, a quick, noncommittal sound.

 

“Let’s just get this over with,” Kirk said, staring past McCoy at the door as he tied the sash around his waist.

 

“Captain,” McCoy started. “James—”

 

“Don’t call me that.”

 

That was what Spock called him.

 

“Captain.” McCoy was unable to voice whatever it was he had meant to say, grumbling something under his breath so low that Kirk couldn’t make out his words.

 

Maybe in another life, in a universe much kinder than their own, they might have been friends. But in this life, Kirk was on his way to his lover’s execution, and there was no room in his heart for gentler feelings.

 

“Let’s go,” Kirk said. He stalked out of his quarters, McCoy following close behind. Kirk was relieved when the Doctor made no other attempts to comfort him.

 

When they reached the empty sickbay, thirty minutes before Spock was to be put to death, Kirk briefly entertained the hope that he would be able to do this without having Gavorak present. When they reached the interrogation room, though, Gavorak was there, waiting outside the door with the smug smile on his face that Kirk had come to loathe.

 

“Captain.” Gavorak saluted Kirk, but the pinched look of his hawkish features gave him away. He didn’t think much of his captain.

 

For a moment after Kirk stopped in front of Gavorak, his hand twitched over his dagger, and he visualized himself cutting the man open. He imagined plunging his hands into the bastard’s innards and yanking them out, slowly punishing him for every moment he had spent torturing Spock.

 

McCoy must have sensed a change in Kirk because he clapped him on the back and then keyed open the door.

 

“What are we all standing around here for?” he drawled as he walked into the room.

 

Gavorak followed, tensing as though he expected an attack from behind, and Kirk entered last, his eyes immediately going to the still form strapped to the table. He stepped forward, as drawn to Spock as ever.

 

Spock was awake, his breathing wet and heavy, and the sight of his ruffled hair and soft lips made something in Kirk crumble. Spock looked haggard and worn, though it was obvious that McCoy had been to see him, since many of his external injuries had been healed.

 

Kirk slowly became aware of the fact that Gavorak was speaking, and pulled his attention away from Spock. “...And his response to electrocution was—”

 

“No,” Kirk said, as soon as he realized Gavorak was casually listing the most painful ways Spock’s execution could be carried out.

 

Gavorak grinned over at Spock, and Kirk realized he had been doing it not because he hoped to influence Kirk’s decision, but to impress upon Spock that his end was near.

 

“No. We’re not going to draw this out. I have better things to do than sit around here waiting for him to die.” Kirk walked over to Spock’s right side and pulled his dagger out.

 

Kirk could feel McCoy watching him, and clearly heard Gavorak’s mumbled complaint. He ignored them both, moving a little closer to Spock, close enough to touch him. He wondered if this footage would ever reach Sarek, as they intended it to, and what he would think if he saw it. He was certain that Command was expecting to him to dispatch Spock in some spectacularly bloody way, but he didn’t care. That wasn’t going to happen.

 

“S'chn T'gai Spock, you are guilty of conspiring against the Empire and for that you have been condemned to death.” There was a whole speech he was expected to give, but he didn’t have the stomach for it, and rushed on toward the end. “Do you have anything to say before your sentence is carried out?”

 

Spock remained silent, as Kirk knew he would, though he turned his eyes on Kirk. Kirk couldn’t look him in the eye for long, not when he looked so accepting, so defeated. He let his gaze travel over Spock’s chest.

 

Kirk focused on the little slash of paler skin on Spock’s side. He adjusted his grip on the dagger and glared down at Spock. He knew his face was twisting into something ugly as his pain tried to manifest. His eyes began to mist over, but he blinked repeatedly, trying to focus on the scar that betrayed the position of Spock’s heart.

 

He must not think. He must not meet Spock’s eyes again and see the love still there. Spock had thrown all of that away when he broke his promise to Kirk.

 

“You...fucking traitor!” Kirk hissed between clenched teeth, raising the dagger.

 

It was time to do it.

 

“I forgive you,” Spock whispered. Kirk’s heart was pounding so loud in his ears that he almost didn’t hear it.

 

He focused on the scar. He would let it guide his hand.

 

With a gut-wrenching yell, Kirk plunged the knife into Spock’s chest. The pain of it, though not his own, was a scream inside his head. Spock’s body jolted and then fell still, his brown eyes widening in surprise, then growing vacant, dull.

 

“Feel better?” Gavarok asked.

 

Kirk realized the man had mistaken his agonized howl for a cry of anger and bloodlust. He knew Gavarok watching him, waiting for a response, but he could not tear his eyes away from the body in front of him.

 

“Much…” Kirk’s voice stuck in his throat. “Much better.”

 

Gavarok chuckled, and Kirk felt the yawning emptiness in him grow. Spock’s eyes were still on him, but they did not see. He wanted to reach out and close those eyes, but instead he pulled the dagger out and stepped back.

 

“Doctor.” Kirk’s voice came out tremulous, but he quickly brought himself under control, ignoring the dizzying migraine that was building in his head. “Check him.”

 

McCoy came forward, keeping his watchful eyes on Kirk. When he reached the table he first pressed his fingers to Spock’s neck, seeking a pulse there before using a hand scanner.

 

A few moments later he stepped back, grim-faced. “He’s dead, Captain.”

 

“Good. It’s done then.” Kirk said, turning to face Gavorak. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

 

“I do.” Gavorak’s lips drew thin.

 

Kirk knew he was off duty, but Gavorak didn’t have the balls to contradict Kirk. He sauntered out of the room with a curt, “Captain.”

 

Kirk could see that McCoy wanted to talk to him, but he couldn’t keep the indifferent look on his face much longer. He gave McCoy a quick nod and walked out, the bright lights of sickbay disoriented him for a moment. As he walked down the corridor he began to feel off balance, as if the floor was starting to tilt, but he walked on, resisting the urge to reach out a hand to steady himself.

 

His head was pounding. His mouth was dry. He felt hollow, as though he was nothing but an aching shell.

 

He had to make it to his quarters quickly. He couldn’t go on the bridge like this.

 

He walked on. His vision blurred, then cleared, and he realized he had arrived at his door. When it opened to admit him he calmly strode in, but as soon as it closed behind him he lurched forward and caught the edge of his desk to keep from crashing to the floor. He made his way around the desk and fell into his chair, resting his forehead on the cool surface in front of him.

 

He stayed that way for some time before carefully sitting up and reaching over to activate his computer terminal. The call to sickbay went through and McCoy appeared on the screen.

 

“You look like hell,” he said.

 

Kirk ignored his no doubt accurate observation, pushing himself up to standing, though he leaned heavily on the desk.

 

“Doctor, will you be beaming down for shore leave?” he asked.

 

“Yes, sir. I’ll be ready to head down just as soon as we enter orbit,” McCoy said.

 

“Good. Good.” Kirk gulped and swayed away from the desk, catching the back of the chair before he could topple over. “Enjoy yourself, doctor.”

 

McCoy seemed about to say something more, but Kirk terminated the call and stepped away from the desk, his stomach heaving as a wave of dizziness hit him.

 

He didn’t quite make it to the bathroom in time, doubling over against the wall to vomit up the contents of his stomach. He retched and moaned, closing his eyes and breathing out through his mouth when the smell assaulted him. He took a step away from the mess he had made, still clutching the wall for support as the room continued to spin.

 

Finally succumbing to the screaming pain in his head, he crumpled to the floor.

 

He was a starship captain, a hardened Starfleet officer, and he would not weep. The tears stung his eyes, but did not spill over as he curled in on himself.

 

There was a hypo next to the bed that would help with his headache, but he’d have to make it there first. He clawed his way up the wall, and hunched over, he slowly made his way to the bed. He fumbled around for the hypo, nearly dropped it, but then clutched it firmly in his fist.

 

Usually Spock administered the medicine when Kirk’s condition was this bad.

 

Feeling clumsy and desperate, he finally managed to get the hypo in position against his skin and triggered the release of the medicine. Dropping the hypo, he fell across his bed, the aching in his head slowly receding, but the more significant pain remaining sharp and cruel.

 

He rolled onto his side, moaning softly, and nuzzled into the pillow.

 

It still smelled of Spock.

  
  


 

\- **Five Months Later** -

 

Kirk was not surprised when the _Enterprise_ was sent on patrol near the Klingon border. It was another in a long string of thankless assignments, most likely meant to express Starfleet Command’s dissatisfaction with the way he had handled Spock’s execution. He knew they had wanted him to put on a show, but because they had neglected to give him more specific directions on how to carry out their orders, they couldn’t really accuse him of willful disobedience.

 

The lecture he received from a fuming Admiral Fitzpatrick and the series of dull assignments amounted to a mere slap on the wrist.

 

Kirk was coming apart at the seams. He knew that. It was only a matter of time before someone took him out to advance their own career. Ensign Chekov had been giving him shifty-eyed looks for weeks now, and Lieutenant Sulu was just waiting for an opportunity to pounce. Kirk knew that his erratic behavior and listless mood were signs of weakness that would draw the attention of the more ambitious members of his crew, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

 

He dragged himself through each day, retreating to his too-quiet quarters when it was time to sleep. He rarely slept, though. It was nearly impossible to sleep without the reassuring pressure of Spock pressing into his back.

 

He wanted nothing. He felt nothing.

 

Still, Kirk grew excited when the ship was ordered to go to Orthrus III, a class M planet a mere five light years from the border. A few cargo vessels in the area had been attacked, and since Orthus III regularly exported valuable goods, including dilithium and various precious metals, the Empire was invested in the safety of that area of space.

 

The _Enterprise_ arrived, and immediately began policing the area. They did encounter one unregistered ship, the origins of which they could not identify, but when they chased it down and tried to disable it, the ship self-destructed.

 

The incident was recorded in the ships logs and Kirk found himself growing inexplicably buoyant. A plan was forming in his head.

 

“What do you think, Captain? Klingons?” Gavorak asked, leaning into the Captain’s chair. For once Kirk didn’t feel irritated by the gesture. “We are close to the border.”

 

“I don’t know.” Kirk was thoughtful, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Maybe.”

 

When they received an invitation from Orthrus III to attend a spring festival being held in the Capital city of Shykri, located on the largest continent on the planet, Kirk eagerly accepted.

 

The people of Orthrus III called themselves Aybrinkan, and were flagrantly proud of their hedonistic society. They were known for having voracious appetites for both food and sex, and sought any opportunity to indulge in both on a grand scale. The festival promised to be a lively one, and Gavorak was practically beside himself with joy.

 

The celebration would go on for three days, so Kirk put Scotty in charge for the first rotation, packed a bag, and sent off a brief message to McCoy. “Take care of yourself,” was all it said.

 

Gavorak was already in the transporter room when he arrived, and Kirk was so pleased with the prospect of never seeing him again that he burst into a genuine smile. Gavorak looked confused, then suspicious, but his thin lips finally drew into sly grin.

 

“Eager to get down there and join in the fun?” he asked.

 

“You have no idea,” Kirk said, still smiling.

 

“Huh! I was starting to think you didn’t have it in you.” Gavorak watched him carefully for a moment, as though expecting an outburst, but then he settled onto the transporter pad with a satisfied look.

 

Kirk’s smile faded as he took a last look around, and then he felt that brief moment of disorientation as his atoms began to break apart.

 

As soon as they materialized in the opulent receiving chamber of their hotel they were surrounded by Aybrinkan men and women, some old and some young, all of them scantily clad and draped in flowers. Long strings of flowers were immediately wrapped around them, and some of the Aybrinkans began to paw at them as they pulled their visitors off of the pad.

 

A slender young woman with long golden hair had wrapped herself around Gavorak, and he hooked an arm around her waist as he turned to Kirk.

 

“It’s been too long, eh?”

 

Kirk nodded, keeping his expression pleasant. “Far too long.”

 

When another woman pulled Kirk into an embrace, he ground his teeth but allowed her to kiss him. She was older than the woman Gavorak was wrapped around, but no less beautiful, and Kirk made an effort to appear as though he was enjoying himself.

 

Then they were both pulled into a dimly lit hallway and ushered toward their rooms.

 

They split up, Gavorak following the young women a little farther down the hall. The woman at Kirk’s side had stopped just inside the hallway, and opened the first set of doors to reveal his chambers. The furniture looked ostentatious but comfortable, and he dropped his bag in the small walk in closet before exploring the rest of suite. He feigned interest in all the little luxuries, pausing over the very large bathtub, and the woman seemed pleased.

 

“My name is Verva,” she said, smiling and sliding a hand down his chest. “You must come celebrate with us.”

 

“I’d like that. My name is Kirk.”

 

“I know.” Verva took his hand, twining her fingers in his, and led him out of the suite.

 

They ran into Gavorak and his woman in the hall, and the four of them piled out into the busy street. It was early evening and the sky was rich with evening color, and dotted with the glowing orbs of floating lanterns. The air was thick and hot, and vibrated with deep, writhing music that made Kirk dizzy.

 

He didn’t care where they led him, and they soon ended up in a noisy nightclub, getting jostled around by wildly dancing groups of people. Kirk pushed through the orgiastic hordes, squinting against the pulsing lights, and finally settled onto a richly upholstered settee along the wall. Verva planted herself in his lap, and a moment later her arms were around his neck and her tongue in his mouth.

 

He fought the urge to jerk away, trying to relax his tense muscles. He must endure this, but only for a little while longer.

 

He focused on the music, on the drumming rhythm that seemed to vibrate in his very blood, and when someone wrapped his fingers around a glass, he gulped the drink down. Soon his vision began to blur and time seemed to slow. He knew time was passing quickly enough though, because the crowd shifted and changed as people came and went.

 

He was relieved when Verva, who was grinding her ass against his crotch, finally turned to say in his ear, “Maybe you’d rather go back to your room? I could bathe you and give you a massage.”

 

“Yes. Let’s go,” Kirk called out over the noise.

 

She pulled him up and they made their way toward the door. As they passed the bar Gavorak met his eyes and grinned at the sight of Verva snaking her hand down Kirk’s pants. Kirk smirked at him, swallowing down his hatred.

 

It didn’t matter anymore.

 

Night had fallen while they were in the club, but it seemed that the entire city was awake and celebrating. Couples fucked up against walls and in dark corners, music blared, and people danced wildly in the streets, some of them wearing elaborate costumes. The walk back to the hotel seemed to take forever, and Kirk made a concentrated effort to clear his head, trying to shake off the buzz he still had going.

 

They had to push through a crowd of very drunk people to enter the hotel, but once they got inside and closed the door, the noise abruptly died away. Verva pulled out a key, a quaint metal key such as had been used on Earth before everything became electronic. Curious, Kirk glanced around and was glad to note that there did not seem to be any kind of surveillance system set up.

 

As soon as Verva got the door open Kirk brushed by her and went to the wet bar.

 

It was time.

 

He took out two glasses and set them on the counter, then, checking over his shoulder to make sure that Verva was not watching him, he pulled a small vial out of an inside pocket in his shirt. He opened it and poured its contents into one of the glasses, then opened a bottle at random and filled both glasses with the potent smelling liquor.

 

He turned around, a glass in each hand, and smiled at Verva as she came out of the bathroom. He could hear the bathwater running.

 

Kirk held out a glass to Verva and she took it, sipping from it and watching him with sparkling green, lust-filled eyes. She set the glass down and began to strip off Kirk’s clothes, and Kirk quietly allowed it.

 

When they were both naked they took their drinks into the bathroom, and slipped into the large tub of hot, bubbling water. Verva sat opposite of Kirk, and ran her foot up and down his leg, resting it finally over his quiescent cock. She seemed disappointed for a moment, but continued to rub gently until Kirk started to grow hard.

 

As close as Kirk felt to Spock right now, it wasn’t difficult to do. He simply allowed the emptiness inside him to fill with the memory of Spock, and with the thought of seeing Spock again.

 

“Damn the Empire,” Kirk murmured.

 

“What? I did not hear you.” Verva looked confused, her nearly empty glass starting to slide out of her hand. At the last moment she tightened her grip on it, and then leaned over to set it on the floor next to the tub. Kirk did the same with his glass.

 

“Nothing. I was just thinking out loud.”

 

Verva hummed, and then moved closer to him, finally settling in his lap. Her eyes were misty, and she blinked them repeatedly as though trying to focus.

 

“I believe I drank too much,” she said with a giggle. “Take me to bed. I want you inside me.”

 

She let her head drop to Kirk’s shoulder, and a few moments later her body was limp against him. Kirk sighed, his heart beginning to pound as he realized the time had come. He stood carefully, struggling to keep his grip on the wet form in his arms, and stepped out of the tub. He walked to the bed and laid Verva down, wet and naked, her hair a golden tangle around her.

 

Kirk unfolded a blanket and pulled it up to her waist. He was certain she would wake up before anyone took note of his absence, and if she had any sense she’d make herself scarce.

 

He hadn’t liked involving her at all, but Gavorak would have grown suspicious if Kirk had beamed down for a festival and then kept to himself.

 

Kirk was shaking with anticipation, his thoughts going wild and bright in his head. He went into the closet and opened his bag, pulling out his dagger. He was startled when he realized his face had split in massive grin. He became aware of a huffing sound and was even more alarmed to find himself laughing.

 

He was excited. And terrified.

 

He took the dagger and walked back into the bedroom, and then took a deep steadying breath.

 

It was time to go.

 

When he felt a little calmer he lifted the dagger and pressed it to his wrist. He felt it slice through his skin and he shuddered, pressing harder and dragging the blade up his arm. The blood flowed hot over his skin and pattered on the floor, and Kirk felt his spirit soar.

 

It was time to go.

 

He gasped as the pain became more intense, and lifted the blade, watching the blood stream down over his hand. For a moment he was paralysed by fear, terrified of giving up everything he had worked for in his life.

 

Then he trained his attention on the emptiness inside him, and the thought of filling it.

 

He dropped the dagger and threw himself to the floor. He rolled over, splattering blood as he went, then stood and let himself crash into the bedside table. Verva stirred, but did not wake. He stumbled his way into the living area and clutched at the wall before sliding down, leaving a smear of crimson in his wake. He stood and kicked over the low table in front of the couch, and then knocked a lamp to the floor. For good measure he kicked a hole in the wall.

 

When he was done he surveyed the mess with satisfaction. It appeared that there had been a violent struggle here, and it was Kirk’s blood they would find. But not Kirk. They’d probably pin his disappearance on the Klingons, and that’s what he was counting on.

 

It was time to go.

 

He clutched at the wound on his wrist, putting as much pressure on it as he could bear, and grabbed the small hand towel that was folded on the counter of the wet bar. He wrapped it around his wrist and held it there, going back to the closet. He pulled a roll of medical tape out of his bag and wrapped a strip of it around and around the towel until it was secure, and then he began to dress himself.

 

He wore casual, comfortable clothes, and stuffed several credit chips in his pocket before throwing a cloak over his arm. It would probably be too hot to wear it during the day here, but it was currently night time, so he thought he could pull it off without drawing too much attention.

 

Perhaps he would steal a mask from one of the costumed revellers.

 

He pulled out and unfolded a knapsack, then dug out the small medkit he had packed and threw it in the open sack. The suitcase would stay behind, along with everything he had been. He packed a couple more items in the sack and closed it. A medkit, the new identification documents he had been hanging on to for weeks, and a single change of clothes were now his only possessions.

 

The name on his documents was not James Tiberius Kirk. James Tiberius Kirk, like Spock, was a dead man.

 

Hands trembling, Kirk stood and slung the knapsack over his shoulder, then walked out of the suite.

 

He stepped out into the midst of exuberant celebration, a new man.

 

A man on his way back to the only true home he had ever known.

  
  


*

 

Kirk took one transport after another, unflappable in his pursuit. Sometimes he travelled on passenger vessels, sometimes he stowed away on cargo ships, but he always kept moving, slowly drawing closer to his destination.

 

He was guided by hints he had been given and by intuition, and, when he drew close enough, by a strange tugging sensation from somewhere deep inside him.

 

Sometimes his journey stalled, and he found himself stranded on some lonely space station or another, waiting for the next ride. At one point he was captured by a band of pirates, but he used guile and ruthless determination to escape them and continue on his way, a little richer but sporting some new scars.

 

When he disembarked from a shuttle on a little red planet that seemed to be a kinder version of another desert planet he had once visited, he knew he was home. Lyrae, it was called. The heat that hit him was harsh, but not unbearable, and the scattered patches of vegetation gave him hope that this place was not a total wasteland.

 

He smiled as he walked toward the travel center, then sighed with pleasure when the doors opened and cool air rushed over him. This was as good a place as any to start his search.

 

It was not easy.

 

He had been travelling around Lyrae for a little over two months—bouncing from place to place and never staying anywhere for very long—when his persistence finally paid off. The people of Lyrae were friendly enough, but did not seem particularly willing to give out information. He tried bribery, with little success, and once, while drunk, he tried threats, but that was even less successful.

 

Kirk had taken a construction job, both to make money and to meet people who might be able to help him. He had been working for a week in sweltering heat, and was beginning to feel very frustrated by his search when he finally got a break.

 

It happened in a bar. Kirk was not so drunk that he couldn’t take care of himself if he needed to, but he was feeling emotionally exhausted and, though he was loath to admit it, sentimental.

 

Looking back, he wasn’t sure what he had actually said to draw the attention of the old man, Salou. Salou had shuffled over, dark, wind-beaten face wrinkled with age, and sat down next to Kirk without an invitation.

 

“I am Salou,” the old man said over his tankard of dirt-brown brew. “I have heard you asking questions.”

 

Kirk was surprised to find that Salou spoke decent Standard, especially given how out of the way this little star system was. Kirk’s grasp on the Lyraen language was still a bit tenuous, a fact that had made his search more difficult.

 

“Have you?” Kirk said, still moping over his drink, but mildly interested in the stranger.

 

“I think I can help you find what you look for.” Salou stared through scraggly wisps of grey hair at Kirk, and Kirk was torn between elation and distrust.

 

“That so?” Out of habit, Kirk let one hand slide beneath the table to the dagger strapped to his thigh. The same one he had once plunged into Spock’s chest.

 

“Mmmph.” Salou made a muffled noise that Kirk only recognized as assent by the slow nodding of the man’s head.

 

“Well, then let’s go,” Kirk said, his lips curling into a dangerous smile. He was tired and depressed, and feeling very combative. If this man was toying with him…

 

“Soon enough,” was all Salou said as he finished off the rest of his drink in silence.

 

Kirk glared at the wizened old man from across the table. The rising of hope was making him giddy despite himself.

 

Hope was unnatural though, foolish. Kirk ruthlessly pushed it down, letting his anger burn hotter and higher as he finished the last of his drink and stood up. He might not be a feared starship captain anymore, but he would not be made a fool of.

 

“He said you would be impatient,” Salou said, just as Kirk’s fingertips brushed the handle of his dagger.

 

Kirk’s heart stuttered in his chest.

 

“Take me there,” Kirk said, a tremor going through him despite the heat. “Now.”

 

Salou gave an affronted grunt, but his beady eyes were twinkling as he stood up. “As you please.” Kirk followed him to the door and out into the scalding, late afternoon heat.

 

Salou looked over his shoulder to say, “We will need transport. City of Kyule is not far from here. From there we hire glider. That will take us as far as the Jathea Pass, and then you go on foot.”

 

Kirk knew enough of Lyrae geography to draw up a mental map of the Jathea mountains, and the pass that cut through its foothills and bore through to the northern valleys. He had not yet gone that far north in his travels, but the semi-arid climate would be a pleasant change from the parched and dusty landscapes he had encountered so far.

 

Once Kirk had retrieved his bag of meager possessions from the closet sized room he had been renting above the town’s only grocery, he was ready to go. They began to walk the road to Kyule, kicking up puffs of red dust as they went, each man keeping his thoughts to himself.

 

Kirk was glad for the silence.

 

They had been walking for more than thirty minutes, Kirk’s human body sweating profusely beneath his loose, flowing Lyraen garments, when they were picked up by traveller. The solar-powered aircar was open to the sun’s rays, but the breeze that swept over them as they sped toward Kyule lulled Kirk into drowsy contemplation.

 

He was so lost in thoughts of the future he still only just dared to hope for, that he started when Salou laid a hand on his arm to alert him of their arrival.

 

The man who had given them a ride waved off their thanks, and Kirk marvelled at the odd loyalty these people showed even to strangers. The people of Lyrae looked out for each other. It was an outlandish, though pleasant, concept to Kirk.

 

Salou quickly found a man willing to take them to the Jathae Pass.

 

The glider the man owned was a rickety old bucket, and with barely functioning environmental controls they were forced to endure hot, stale air for the length of the trip. Luckily, the old craft was fast, and after two hours had passed Kirk found himself gazing out the window at the hazy peeks of the Jathae Mountains.

 

Something in him seemed to buzz to life, and the closer they drew to their destination, the more warm and glowing the sensation became. For the first time since he had lost Spock, he felt alive.

 

They reached the pass when the sun was swinging down toward the horizon through a blaze of red and orange sky. Kirk estimated that there was about two hours left of daylight, and hoped it would be enough. Salou seemed utterly unconcerned as he directed the driver toward a flat stretch of smooth rock at the base of a large hill.

 

When the glider came to a stop Salou flung open the door and stepped out, gesturing for Kirk to follow.

 

“Where are we? What now?” Kirk asked, becoming suspicious again despite the pleasant buzzing that was soothing his mind. He knew he was close, but it almost seemed too good to be true.

 

Salou flung a withered hand out toward the hill, pointing out a narrow but well-used path leading up it. “There. Follow that path. It is not far.”

 

Salou stepped back toward the open door of the glider, but kept his eyes on Kirk, looking expectant.

 

It occurred to Kirk that he should offer the man something as payment for his help, and he gave him every last Lyraen cent in his pockets. Salou bowed graciously and climbed back in the glider, and a minute later Kirk found himself standing alone at the base of a mountain.

 

He swallowed nervously, then started up the path.

 

The path was steep in places, but relatively smooth, and in some spots steps had been carved into the reddish-brown sandstone. The plant-life here was somewhat sparse, but varied and beautiful, and for the first time in a long while, he found himself stopping to simply admire the beauty of nature.

 

The sun was beating against his back, though not as fiercely now, and the air had an almost crisp quality to it that made him feel more wakeful.

 

Still, it was hot, and he stopped frequently to sip warm water from his canteen and rub the sweat out of his eyes. He cursed heartily when a scaly little beast with pointed teeth chased him from a resting spot in the shade, and resolved to make the rest of the journey without stopping.

 

Kirk knew he was getting close. The light buzzing in his head was now a steady hum of warmth that called out to him, leading him on. Looking up at the path ahead, he sensed his journey was at an end, that what he sought was just over the crest of the next hill. He moved faster, careful not to slip over the shifting rock, his heart beating wildly. As he climbed upward, he yanked his headcloth down so that it lay looped around his neck, and he ran the last several steps.

 

When he reached the top of the hill, the first thing he saw was a boxy adobe dwelling with large windows facing the spectacular sunset behind him. Only a moment later, he noticed the tall figure striding toward him.

 

Kirk’s chest tightened at the sight of Spock’s angular face, those fierce brown eyes glinting in the deep golden light of sunset.

 

Kirk felt as if he was falling as he ran toward Spock, and then he was falling, strong arms going around him at the last second and pulling him into a tight embrace. Kirk couldn’t see through the hot tears that were filling his eyes and coursing down his face, and he only barely heard the deep, comforting voice of his lover over the strange choking noises being ripped from his chest.

 

Spock’s scent was flooding his nose, making him feel drugged and weightless. He wasn’t sure now if he was laughing or crying, and he pressed harder into Spock’s thin but solid frame as his body heaved with emotion he could not contain. It rushed out of him, raw and searing, burning away a lifetime’s worth of rage and fear. There was nothing left now but all-consuming need.

 

When his stuttering cries eased, leaving him feeling drained and aching, he was finally able to listen to words rumbling out Spock like distant thunder. The sounds vibrated against him from Spock’s chest in soothing pulses.

 

“James…T’hy’la…My James...”

 

There were words, so many words Kirk had saved up to say to Spock over the many months they had been apart, but Kirk’s mouth went dry and his mind blank. He could only manage a whispered “Spock.” Then he took the name up like a chant, lifting his head so that his lips brushed the pulse in Spock’s neck.

 

Alive. Spock was alive. He had known it before, but it hadn’t felt real until now.

 

Needing to see him, to examine him and assure himself of Spock’s good health, Kirk slowly pulled away, keeping his hands on Spock’s arms.

 

Spock appeared somewhat gaunt, but no more so than Kirk after the strain of their separation. Spock stood tall and straight, as dignified as ever, and wore clothes in the same style as Kirk’s, only they were cleaner and not so tattered. His hair had grown a little longer, but his beard was neatly trimmed. Overall he appeared as if he had been doing well for himself. Kirk couldn’t help but smile, deep and warm.

 

Kirk ran a hand over Spock’s chest, his fingers coming to rest on the place where he knew a vicious scar lay mere centimeters below an older, faded one; the cost of their freedom.

 

“Did you know? Did you know what I was going to do?” Kirk asked, his voice gruff with emotion.

 

“I was not absolutely certain, but I…hoped you would find a way to save me.” Spock said, running a hand through Kirk’s hair.

 

“To save _us_ ,” Kirk corrected. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to Spock’s and drinking in the steady strength and deep affection that came through the touch.

 

In truth, he himself hadn’t known what he was going to do until after he had entered the interrogation room. He would be forever grateful to McCoy for keeping his cool and playing along once he realized Spock wasn’t dead.

 

It had been close, though. So close. If the blade had pierced Spock even a centimeter higher there would have been no surviving it. It was fortunate that Kirk had become so familiar with the location of the Vulcan heart.

 

“Come. I have prepared a meal for us,” Spock said. He pulled away and moved toward the dwelling, which was now bathed in the bright pink light of the setting sun. Kirk followed, clinging to Spock’s arm. He couldn’t bear the thought of letting him go just yet. They walked down a gentle incline, their shadows stretching out before them and creeping up the front door.

 

The inside of the house was clean and minimalist in design, boasting only a few modern conveniences, and Kirk was not surprised to see the table laid out for two. He had known Spock would feel him coming.

 

He laughed, a sound he hadn’t made in far too long, and pulled Spock to him again. He was becoming hysterical, his laughter turning into more heaving sobs, but Spock caught Kirk’s head between his hands and held him still, pressing their lips together.

 

Kirk’s skin felt electrified, and he sagged against Spock, digging his hands into his tunic and twisting the fabric between his fingers. Spock ended the kiss too soon, leaning back to observe Kirk.

 

“I’m okay. Just tired. It was a long trip,” Kirk said breathlessly. “Maybe I should lie down.”

 

Spock nodded and led Kirk to the hall, but Kirk hesitated as they passed the small kitchen. He eyed the slow cooker sitting on the counter.

 

“Our dinner…” Kirk started.

 

“It will keep.”

 

Spock pulled him along and into a bedroom. The bed was a flat mattress atop a raised platform, and Kirk sank down onto it willingly once Spock took his dusty bag and stripped off his clothes. Spock was soon next to him, naked and wrapping around him. Kirk curled into him, reveling in the feel of that dry, warm skin against his.

 

They lay facing each other, legs and arms entangled, and he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else in the universe at that moment. He did miss being the captain of a starship, he missed the power and notoriety that came with maintaining such a position. And he missed the stars, missed having the freedom to travel among them.

 

Still, he had no real regrets. Spock was alive and in his arms, where he should be. Spock, who would fight for him, die for him, kill for him. Spock, who would always be loyal to him. He wouldn’t give Spock up for anything. Not for all the starships in the fleet.

 

It grew dark outside, and a small light on the wall near the floor clicked on. Kirk smiled and leaned into Spock a little more.

 

Lyrae was was a nice enough place to live out his life, if a little remote. Still, he wondered what he would do. He had no intention of going back into construction, but he would have to find some way to keep himself occupied, or he would drive Spock crazy with his restlessness.

 

Kirk squirmed back a little and gave Spock a questioning look. “So, what will we do here? How have you been getting by?”

 

Spock did not answer right away, instead stroking Kirk’s hair and gazing up at the shadows the fan threw on the ceiling. He sighed a little before finally answering.

 

“My family was able to flee with a good portion of their portable wealth. They also have various accounts on unaligned planets. My father had prepared for every eventuality, and took measures to ensure that I would have the means to survive in such circumstances as we find ourselves in now.”

 

“Is that right?” Kirk asked, unsure if he was more angry or pleased with Sarek. If Sarek hadn’t been caught assisting enemies of the Empire then Kirk would still be the captain of the _Enterprise_. And he wouldn’t have had to stab his lover.

 

“Yes.” Spock cocked his head a little, perhaps confused by Kirk’s tone.

 

“So you’re saying, we don’t have to do _anything_ ,” Kirk said. He wanted to be with Spock, no matter what, but he couldn’t imagine just sitting around doing nothing for the rest of his life.

 

“No. That is not what I am saying.”

 

Kirk was starting to feel irritable, but Spock pulled him a little closer and rubbed a hand down his back and over his ass, effectively dispelling any discontent.

 

“It is my intention to purchase a merchant vessel, preferably one with advanced weapons and drive systems installed.” Spock’s hand slid around until it was between them, then fondled Kirk’s cock. Kirk found himself growing very excited, both by Spock’s touch and his words. He leaned forward and caught Spock’s lips in a heated kiss.

 

Spock pulled away after a moment and stared into Kirk’s eyes, “How do you feel about piracy, my captain?”

 

Kirk grinned at his lover in delight, and then rolled over on top of him.

  
No, he didn’t regret a thing.


	5. Epilogue

 

The air in the bar was heavy with the smell of liquor, and it pulsed pleasantly with the somber, bending notes of a very old blues song. The Northside Tavern was run down, but the place had character, and it appealed to Leonard McCoy's unpolished personality.

 

Although he liked to think of himself as more of a southern gentleman, there was no glossing over the rough parts of him that had helped him survive.

 

It wasn't too often that the crew of the ISS _Enterprise_ had leave on Earth, and McCoy had so far spent five days reacquainting himself with his old stomping grounds in Atlanta, Georgia. There were only two days left before he had to head back to San Fransisco to report for duty.

 

McCoy sipped his beer and contemplated his life with a sour expression on his face, although he would have blithely beat the shit out of anyone who claimed he was wallowing.

 

His life hadn't been all trials and tribulations, after all. In fact, he had seen and experienced some things that were downright inspiring.

 

He'd seen pristine worlds that seemed to spin outside the reach of the bloody circus of power and wealth that kept the people of the Empire scrambling around like a bunch of homicidal lunatics. He'd seen new life spring up like shining little flames in the endless black of humanity's night. It was always a wonder to behold, those tender births, though McCoy couldn't help but wonder when those precious sparks would be snuffed out by heartless wretches, eaten up by greed and cruelty.

 

McCoy sighed into his mug. Maybe he was wallowing. A little bit.

 

Sitting up a little straighter on his stool, he turned his thoughts to the one thing that never failed to lift his spirits: his former captain, James T. Kirk, getting one over on the Empire. He smirked and took a satisfying swig of his drink.

 

He’d been shocked to realize that his ruthless captain was in love with his Vulcan first officer, especially after Kirk had tortured Spock so relentlessly. Truth be told, he’d suspected something, but love? That had thrown him for a loop. He couldn’t believe Kirk meant to go through with the execution, and when he’d seen that dagger plunge down toward Spock’s heart his own heart nearly broke.

 

But then he really looked. Hope had sprung up in him, faint and so alien, but real. As an accomplished exobiologist, he was familiar with the location of the Vulcan heart.

 

It had been a challenge keeping himself calm once he realized Spock had a pulse. The Vulcan had wisely plunged himself right into a trance the moment he realized he wasn’t dead, and that had helped make his apparent death more believable when McCoy had the body removed from the interrogation room.

 

It had taken some costly bribery to secure Chapel’s help—and her silence—but together they managed to pull Spock through just fine. McCoy had smuggled a beardless and heavily disguised Spock off the ship, and then spent his shore leave making sure Spock was strong enough to go on the run.

 

When Kirk had contacted McCoy in sickbay to ask if he was taking shore leave, what he had really wanted to know was if Spock was alive. McCoy told Kirk he was beaming down, and relief had flashed across Kirk’s haggard face.

 

He hoped that wherever they were now, they were safe and happy.

 

Gavorak on the other hand...McCoy wished the man a slow death, and was fairly certain that’s exactly what the new captain would get. Gavorak could have done done well for himself as the Captain of the _Enterprise_ , but instead he shot himself in the foot by alienating everyone who could have been an ally. McCoy was already hearing whispers of mutiny, and he wouldn’t be sorry to see the smug bastard get his comeuppance.

 

McCoy grunted out a short laugh, and then looked around to make sure no one had noticed.

 

It was then that he realized he was being watched. Against the black, crumbling wall, a man sat, his face partially obscured by the shadow from the drooping brim of his hat. McCoy frowned and turned back to the bar, setting down his drink and resting his arms on the polished wood surface.

 

McCoy generally kept to himself and had never done anything to defy the Empire—besides helping Spock escape. But there had been no indication that his actions had aroused any suspicions, and he couldn’t believe that Chapel would betray him.

 

Would she?

 

Feeling unsettled, McCoy turned and let his gaze drift casually around the bar. He watched the band play, following the movements of the guitarist strumming, and slowly let his eyes focus on a spot to the right of the man. The man didn’t appear tall, but was well-muscled, and he had a scruffy, coppery beard, and longish red hair pushed behind his ears. The man was still observing McCoy, sitting straight and still in his chair.

 

Feigning nonchalance, McCoy finished his beer. He’d be damned if he’d let some creepy stranger make him uneasy. Feeling his temper on the rise, he plunked down his mug and turned to confront the man.

 

He found himself staring at an empty chair.

 

Turning back to the bar, he lifted his glass and said, “I’ll have another.”

 

His mood was ruined, and he found himself wanting to sink all his memories into a murky sea of alcohol. The bartender brought him another drink, and McCoy immediately lifted the mug to his lips.

 

When he finished his drink he remained on the stool, leaning heavily on the bar and swaying slightly to the music. People were talking and laughing noisily, and the sound of pool balls clacking was cut by a sudden curse that made McCoy jump.

 

It was time to call it a night.

 

He had a pleasant buzz going and figured he’d quit while he was ahead. He strolled toward the door, the sticky floor grabbing at the soles of his shoes, and nodded his appreciation at the musicians as he passed. Once outside he shoved his hands into his pockets and started off down the sidewalk. The streets were quiet, and the only other people in sight were a couple across the street from the bar, passionately kissing and fondling each other.

 

McCoy rolled his eyes and started walking down Howell Mill Road. His hotel wasn’t too far, and the night air was warm and pleasant despite the humidity.

 

He had only been walking for a couple of minutes when the hairs on the back of his neck began to rise. He was coming up on an abandoned apartment building, a looming shell of what had once been a well populated haven for alien immigrants and humans alike. He quickened his step, and glanced over his shoulder out of habit.

 

That was when he saw the man. It was the same man who had been watching him in the bar, he was sure of it. Despite the concealing shadows, McCoy recognized the hat and the jacket, and the man had the same quiet intensity about him as he drew nearer to McCoy.

 

McCoy walked faster, wanting to put distance between them, but then his nerves began to fail him and he broke into a run.

 

He heard footsteps pounding behind him, and just up ahead he saw shadows shift and grow where the apartment building ended. He realized there was someone there, just around the corner, and he dashed off to his right, into the street. He hadn’t taken three steps when a hand caught his shoulder, yanking him back.

 

Someone, the man who had been chasing him, was yelling something, but McCoy couldn’t make out the words.

 

He felt a terrible pressure spreading up from where the hand gripped him, and lights danced before his eyes just before everything went black.

 

* 

 

The first thing McCoy became aware of was the familiar hum of a ship. When he finally managed to open his eyes, he blinked at the bright light that assaulted him. He found himself on a narrow biobed, in a very small med bay. Though the room was not large, it was clean and well stocked, and McCoy raised himself up on his elbows to get a better look around. He was startled by the sound of a deep voice.

 

“James, the doctor is awake.”

 

He turned his head to see Spock standing in the doorway, looking immaculately groomed, dressed in black, velvety robes. McCoy’s mouth dropped open, though it snapped shut again when James T. Kirk sauntered in. The fake beard, hat, and wig were gone, but he was dressed in the same clothes he’d been wearing down on the planet.

 

Damn him.

 

Kirk stopped at the side of the biobed and placed his hands on his hips, giving McCoy what he probably thought was a charming smile.

 

“You son of a bitch!” McCoy yelled, throwing his fist back to take a swing. Kirk easily caught his arm, and held on to it. “You scared the living daylights out of me! Were you trying to give me a heart attack?”

 

Kirk, the bastard, laughed. “Aw, come on. I didn’t think you’d panic and run like you had a hellhound on your trail.”

 

McCoy recalled that “Hellhound On My Trail” was one of the songs he’d heard back at the bar, and he glared hard at Kirk.

 

“Couldn’t you have just waited for me outside my hotel, or something?” McCoy knew his voice sounded petulant, but he had to cover up his surprise at seeing Kirk and Spock somehow.

 

“That wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun.” Kirk’s lips were pulled into an infuriating half-smile.

 

McCoy yanked his arm out of Kirk’s grip and swung his legs over the side of the biobed. “Are you out of your minds, coming back here? You idiots are gonna get yourselves caught!”

 

"Easy there, Bones."

 

"Bones?" McCoy realized that Kirk was referring to his excessively skinny frame and scowled. "Don't call me that."

 

Kirk didn't understand the strain he'd been under recently, but McCoy wasn’t in the mood to explain his current physical state. When he had diagnosed himself with xenopolycythemia on board the _Enterprise_ he'd been sure he was done for. It was only pure chance that he found a formula for the cure in the data banks of an atomic-powered spaceship that was hurtling through space.

 

He had only barely managed to administer the cure to himself in time, and he was still in the process of recovering.

 

“So, you wanna tell me what the hell is going on here?” McCoy hopped down and faced Kirk with his arms crossed over his chest.

 

Kirk grew serious in an instant. His arms dropped to his sides and he got that darkly speculative look that McCoy had seen in his eyes whenever the _Enterprise_ was facing a problem. It made McCoy nervous to have that unyielding gaze turned on him. Kirk had been well known for being ruthless in his pursuit of his objectives, and though McCoy had seen Kirk at his weakest, there was nothing fragile or uncertain about the man in front of him now.

 

“Doctor McCoy, we have invited you here—”

 

“Invited!” McCoy snorted.

 

“—to offer you a position on this ship. If you accept we will be shipping out immediately, so I would like your decision sooner rather than later.”

 

“What do you want me for?” McCoy asked. His head was starting to spin, both from the alcohol he had consumed earlier, and from the surprises that kept being sprung on him.

 

“We are in need of a good physician,” Spock said, matter-of-factly. He hadn’t moved from the doorway and was watching McCoy dispassionately.

 

“No, I mean, why me specifically?” McCoy clenched his jaw when he was done speaking, and looked from Kirk to Spock, then back again.

 

“Because...” Kirk sighed, some of the flinty determination leaving his eyes. “Because we trust you.”

 

“You do?” McCoy was aiming for incredulity, but fell short of the mark.

 

Kirk’s claim of trust, at least, was not really a surprise. McCoy had put himself at risk to help Spock escape and it made sense that even if they didn’t necessarily like him, they would feel more inclined to entrust him with their health.

 

Hell, with time, maybe they could even learn to like each other.

 

“Despite your obvious deficiencies, yes. We do,” Spock said.

 

Then again, maybe not.

 

Stalling for time, McCoy pointed at the knot high on Kirk’s forehead. “What happened to your head? Looks like you had a hell of a shiner recently, too.”

 

“We picked up Uhura as soon as she left San Francisco,” Kirk said, gingerly rubbing at the lump.

 

“You offer her a position, as well?” McCoy couldn’t help but grin.

 

“We did, and she accepted.”

 

“And here I thought she had some brains in her head. It just goes to show—”

 

“Doctor.” Kirk’s tone was a mix of impatience and weariness, and for a moment McCoy was at a loss for how to respond.

 

On one hand, Kirk’s irritability rubbed him the wrong way, especially given that McCoy had been the one chased through the night, knocked out, and dragged on board a ship without so much as a how-do-you-do. On the other hand, there was a desperate kind of eagerness in Kirk’s manner, just barely concealed, that spoke of an emotional investment in McCoy’s reply to his offer.

 

Kirk needed him. McCoy was sure of it. He thought of the doomed Captain Gavorak, and of the _Enterprise_ , and decided there was nothing for him there. No one cared about him, and no one needed him.

 

“Alright. I’ll do it,” McCoy said. When relief softened the line of Kirk’s shoulders, McCoy knew he had made the right decision.

 

“Good,” Kirk said, his lips drawing into a slightly twisted smile.

 

Spock nodded and retreated through the doorway. McCoy watched him go and then looked over at Kirk.

 

“How is he? Everything heal ok?” he asked.

 

“He’s fine. Sometimes his hand is a little stiff, but he’d never admit to it,” Kirk said. McCoy was startled by the obvious affection in his eyes. “You did good patching him up. Thank you.”

 

Feeling a bit awkward, McCoy changed the subject. “You run into any other _Enterprise_ crewmen, besides Uhura and me?”

 

“As a matter of fact, I did,” Kirk said. “Captain Gavorak and I spent some quality time together on a private island in the Bahamas. I can’t say much for his abilities as a Starfleet Officer, but I will admit that he has excellent taste in tourist destinations.”

 

“My God! You actually killed the son of a bitch?”

 

“Nah,” Kirk said. Then, with a fierce glint in his eyes, he added, “Just cut off a few non-essential parts of him.”

 

McCoy started to gape at him, but caught himself and said, “And here I thought that experiencing life’s gentler feelings might have tempered your cruelty.”

 

“Not a chance.”

 

“Didn’t you take a risk though? He knows you’re alive now.”

 

“We’ll be long gone before anyone finds him. Not that anyone would believe him anyway,” Kirk said. His expression grew hard as he added, “I plan on making a name for myself out there. They’ll be familiar with this incarnation of me, soon enough.”

 

“Huh,” was all McCoy had to say to that.

 

They stood silently for a few long moments, Kirk staring through the door Spock had left through. Kirk had a look of intense concentration on his face, but then his features softened, and he said softly to himself, “Coming…”

 

McCoy was about to ask him what he was talking about when Kirk turned to him.

 

“Why don’t you join me on the bridge?”

 

“Sure.”

 

Kirk walked out and McCoy followed him into what appeared to be a main access corridor. The ship was not new, by any means, but it was clean and polished, with gleaming metal walls and sleek plastaform panelling. The color scheme was a little dark for McCoy’s tastes—too many deep metallic hues—but he could tell it was a fine ship.

 

They walked down the corridor and Kirk proudly showed off his ship, pointing out the galley and the crew lounge as they passed them. When he came to a short, though steeply ascending catwalk, he nimbly bounded up it and disappeared.

 

McCoy wasn’t feeling so sprightly, and held the smooth railing as he covered the same distance in several careful steps. He emerged on the bridge, and didn’t even bother trying to hide his admiration. The bridge was even more well-maintained than the rest of the ship, and McCoy wouldn’t be surprised if all the latest upgrades had been installed for every system onboard.

 

The bridge was arranged in a semicircle, a gently curved viewscreen front and center. Kirk strode forward and sat next to Spock in one of the two center chairs, which were flanked by two others facing what must have been the science and communications stations. He began to tap the controls in front of him, seeming to forget about McCoy entirely.

 

“Ready to leave orbit?” he asked Spock.

 

“Yes, Captain.”

 

Kirk’s eyes lit up with something fierce and—damn, McCoy hated to admit it—something beautiful.

 

McCoy turned to the chair on his left and smiled at Uhura. She looked like a dark goddess, or a warrior woman. She had ditched the Starfleet issue skirt for a pair of tight leather pants, and her draping, gauzy blouse dipped into a deep v that showed off the intricate, burnished metal necklace she was wearing. When Uhura smiled back, it sent a pleasant shiver up and down his spine.

 

McCoy couldn’t bring himself to regret his decision to stay, despite the danger he was most likely throwing himself headfirst into.

 

“Welcome to the Hamlan t’Khaf-spol, Doctor.” Uhura’s voice was a sweet, soft contrast to the steely glint in her stunning brown eyes. She gestured to the free chair, and said, “Have a seat.”

 

“I’m a doctor, not a science officer,” McCoy grumbled, though his heart felt light for the first time in a very long time. He sat down with a sigh. “What’s that mean anyway, Ham khaf-whatever?”

 

“It’s Vulcan for ‘Heart’s Paradise.’” Uhura’s smile took on a distinctly mischievous quality.

 

“Ha! Well, I’ll be!” McCoy said with glee. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Spock stiffen, but he went on, “I didn’t know Vulcans had words like that.”

 

Uhura turned back to her station, saying over her shoulder, “You’d be surprised.”

 

McCoy chuckled, then said to himself, “I bet I would be.”

 

He swivelled the seat so that he could see the viewscreen, but his eyes were drawn away from the image of twinkling stars by the sight of Spock and Kirk working side by side as they maneuvered out of orbit. They fired the main impulse engines as soon as they were clear, and Spock adjusted the viewscreen controls so that the endless vista of stars blinked out and the planet earth appeared, round and glowing like a jewel as it slowly shrank from sight.

 

He must have done it for the sake of the humans aboard, because he didn’t give the screen another glance as he continued to make course adjustments.

 

Kirk and Spock were perfectly in sync with each other, and though neither of them said more than a couple words, they responded to each other’s movements, seamlessly switching tasks with each other as though they were one being.

 

Once they were nearly clear of the system Uhura got up, stretched, and strutted off the bridge. McCoy turned to watch her go, then faced forward again.

 

A light began to flash on the screen between the two forward stations, and Kirk and Spock reached for it at the same time. Their fingers tangled for a moment, then slowly slid apart in a tender caress. The touch was such a simple one, but McCoy felt as though he had just spied them in some intimate act. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

 

Then, feeling puckish, he leaned forward and said, “Get a room, you two.”

 

Kirk glared over his shoulder, then grinned. “Shut up, Bones.”

 

“I said don’t call me—”

 

He cut himself off as they jumped to warp, the deep, soothing hum vibrating softly through him. The stars on the viewscreen streaked and then disappeared, and McCoy’s heart skipped a beat as he realized there was no backing out now. This would be his life now, these people his only family.

 

He took one slow, deep breath, and then another.

 

“So, where the hell are we going, anyway?” he asked, once he was feeling more calm.

 

Kirk shifted in his seat to look back at him, still smiling. He gestured carelessly at the viewscreen. “Out there. Thataway.”

 

Strangely, that was good enough for McCoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! My art for this story can be found on my [tumblr](http://rowan-baines.tumblr.com/post/95138181036/for-my-new-mirrorverse-story-where-the-heart-is).


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